


What's A Little Quaffle Between Friends?

by theinvisibledisaster



Series: Life's A Snitch And Then You Die [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bellamy Has Feelings, Clarke Also Has Feelings, Gryffindor Bellamy Blake, Multi, Quidditch, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Slytherin Clarke Griffin, They're both oblivious, everyone else can see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-20 18:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: Bellamy gets injured in a Quidditch game and gets sent to the hospital wing, where Clarke volunteers during her free periods. She checks up on him during the night, and the next time he gets injured, she happens to be there again. Then it keeps happening."Is flirting by constant self-injury really the way you want to play this, Blake?" Murphy asked."Shut up, it wasn't on purpose," Bellamy grumbled, clutching at his fingers."I'm just saying, most people would probably just ask the girl out. Then, I suppose, most people are normal."Bellamy would have made an obscene hand gesture at his friend but he knew it would hurt too much, so he aimed a kick at him instead.





	1. Quidditch Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> So my fabulous friend [@chants-de-lune](http://chants-de-lune.tumblr.com/) brought this up a little while ago while she was working on her own Hogwarts AU (which you can read [HERE!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570744) and I highly recommend you do, because it's great) and then my first favourite wife [@clarkgriffon](https://clarkgriffon.tumblr.com/) joined in and the concept kept bugging me until I absolutely had to write it:
> 
>  **Meg:** _Clarke working as a student in the hospital wing and having to fix Bellamy's beautiful face because Cage and Emerson keep hitting the bludgers towards him_
> 
>  **Mira:** _Bellamy starts getting disappointed when the bludgers don't hit him because he has no excuse to go see Clarke_
> 
>  **Meg:** _Bellamy: *deliberately pissing the beaters off whenever he can*_  
>  _His fellow Chasers: JUST GO TALK TO HER_
> 
>  **Mira:** _bellamy, to his teammates: wow, that's an interesting concept, no really, im listening_  
>  _bellamy, turning toward cage and emerson: *deadass chucks a quaffle at them*_
> 
>  **Me:** _Clarke doesn't even like quidditch, so she never goes to games, and Bellamy starts thinking of dumber and dumber reasons to visit the hospital wing_
> 
> I wanted this fic to have mostly s1 delinquents feels, so Cage and Emerson aren't on a quidditch team, but they do have small roles in chapter 3, and there is DEFINITELY some peak Bellamy _"what the fuck is up Kyle? No, what did you say dude, what the FUCK dude, STEP THE FUCK UP, KYLE"_ Blake moments in here. The title is courtesy of my second favourite wife, [@fen-ha-fuck-you](https://fen-ha-fuck-you.tumblr.com/). Special shoutout to her and[@anne-shirley-blythe](https://anne-shirley-blythe.tumblr.com/) for their title suggestions; they made me laugh so hard I cried. Their suggestions (and some of mine) are now the chapter titles. 
> 
> These chapters aren't anywhere near as long as I'd usually make my chapters, but this is just some light fun. It's more like little vignettes than anything else,so it's not going to be too long. (She says, probably lying)
> 
> I hope you like it!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy takes two bludgers to the arm and ends up in the hospital wing. And guess who's working there???

When the bludgers broke Bellamy’s arm, he tried to play it off like he was fine. He was holding the quaffle at the time, and he managed to fly another thirty feet towards the goalposts before the pain kicked in; he even _scored,_ and had about two seconds of celebrations before the agony hit him. 

He pitched forward on his broom, and was only saved from crashing into the ground by the lightning fast reactions of Miller and Monroe. He could dimly hear Diyoza’s usual snarky commentary as they caught him under the arms and steadied his broom.

_“–and it seems the Gryffindor captain has taken two bludgers to the arm, in a surprisingly brutal strike from the Hufflepuff beater–”_

He could see Jasper flying towards him, apologies pouring from his lips, explanations for the hits, but he wasn’t really registering any of it. 

_“–Jasper’s lucky that Octavia likes him, because if this had been the Slytherin game, Murphy would be dead by now–”_

_“–Professor Diyoza you can’t comment on that, you’re a teacher, you’re supposed to be objective,”_ that was Headmaster Kane’s voice.

 _“And **objectively** , anyone else would be being murdered by the younger Blake for daring to hurt her brother,”_ she snapped back argumentatively. If it had been any other teacher, he would have assumed she didn’t realise she was still amplifying her voice, but because it was Diyoza he knew it was absolutely intentional. 

By this point, the game had halted as Miller guided him towards the ground. Diyoza had ceased her commentary in order to take control of the situation, refereeing the game and deciding if the game was worth continuing without the Gryffindor captain. His head was foggy and he was really struggling to keep his broom straight. He didn’t even want to look at his arm. He knew it was bad, because it was starting to go numb, and because Nate kept grimacing at it. Anything that could get Miller to make a facial expression like that was definitely not good. 

Someone was offering him a stretcher when his feet finally reached the grass, but he waved them off with his good hand. Pain spiked through his arm when he instinctively went to grab his broom from the ground and he fell harder into Miller’s side. 

“Don’t worry about it, Harper’ll pick it up,” he grunted, taking more of Bellamy’s weight. 

They were walking, but everything was just different stabs of agony and numbness, and he wasn’t really sure how much time had passed by the time Miller kicked open the doors to the hospital wing. Madam Cartwig was nowhere to be seen, but a familiar head of blonde hair whipped around at their arrival. Bellamy groaned, pushing his head into his friend’s shoulder. 

“Jesus, Blake, what did you do?” Clarke snapped, but it wasn’t the usual edge of bitterness he expected from her. He’d known Clarke Griffin since first year, when they had met at the sorting ceremony and made some rather drastic assumptions about each other. He’d thrown insults, she’d hexed him, and when she was sorted into Slytherin he had been pleased to know that his assumptions were correct. 

Except, goddammit, she kept proving him wrong. 

He thought she was a prissy pureblood princess – wrong. Her father had been a muggle, but he had died just before the start of first year, and it was a great point of contention for her whenever anyone brought him up. So calling her “a spoilt little daddy’s girl” was probably not the best idea. No wonder she hexed him. 

He thought she was stuck up because her mother was Minister for Magic – wrong. Apparently, Clarke barely spoke to Abby, and he hadn’t ever even seen her go home for Christmas or during the breaks. He knew, because he and Octavia never left the castle either. He found her helping Octavia with her Arithmancy homework one winter night in the library, and it had thrown him so much he had just blinked at them, confused. Everyone knew that he and Octavia were mudbloods, and that even among muggles, their parental situation was shitty, but Clarke hadn’t cared. She had offered to give Octavia her notes and when Octavia refused (because Blakes don’t take handouts) she’d simply sat down and started talking her through it instead.

He thought she was a typical selfish Slytherin – wrong. He’d first seen the error of his ways on that account when he noticed her comforting Charlotte by the greenhouses after one of the Gryffindor boys pushed her over in front of everyone. Then he’d seen her offering to help teachers clear up after class, and she even took in Maya’s owl for a week when it injured itself. In third year, she hexed a group of boys for daring to call Shaw a mudblood and got a week worth of detentions for it, but the boys’ hands had remained stained with dark liquid for months, oozing onto everything they touched. He vividly remembered hearing her furious, “Who’s the mudblood now, dickweeds?” as Indra dragged her away. 

Now that they were in seventh year, he had known Clarke Griffin long enough that he was painfully aware of all of her remarkable traits, and how very wrong he’d been all those years ago. At some point in the six years, their rage-filled insults had turned into more teasing barbs, but they still weren’t quite friends, still lived on eggshells around each other. It really didn’t help things that Bellamy had been stupidly into her since third year. He tried to maintain his hatred, but the pull of attraction just kept punching him in the gut. He blamed the third year mudblood incident. He’d been coming around on her for a while at that point, but that was really the final nail in his coffin. Ever since, it had been a struggle to be near her for entirely different reasons; especially since until this year they had almost every class together. This year it had been a little easier, because she was doing Arithmancy while he took History of Magic, and she had Divination when he had Ancient Runes, but she still seemed to be constantly _there._

It didn’t help things that his friends were all friends with her as well. It turned out, Clarke was kind to everyone, even if she hid that kindness behind an icy exterior. Not to mention the fact that she worked in the damn hospital wing during her free periods. 

Shit. 

Her eyes widened as she met them halfway, gaze locked onto his elbow. 

“That bad, Princess?” He joked. She was so focussed on his injury that she didn’t even bristle at the nickname, which meant this was really, really bad. 

She dragged her eyes back up to meet his, face schooled into a blank expression. “Not at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Princess,” he grumbled, prompting her to scowl at him. 

“I’m an excellent liar,” she wagged a finger at him, “and seeing as you can’t even bring yourself to look at it, I’m pretty sure you already knew how bad it was before you asked.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Well, he could certainly _try,_ and under any other circumstances, he might, but his head was throbbing as his pulse frantically ran between his arm and the rest of him and he needed to lie down. He ducked his head a little to curb the dizziness, and of course Clarke noticed and made a show of tutting and pointing him over to the nearest bed. Miller helped him manoeuvre onto the mattress before stepping back, and the two of them exchanged concerned glances over his head. 

He flopped his head back into the pillows and tried to ignore the spasms in his right arm. “You two having a silent conversation without me is really starting to freak me out.”

“Yeah, well your arm being basically crushed into dust is freaking _us_ out,” a familiar voice said. Bellamy tilted his head to see better, squinting at his friend.

“Fuck off, Murphy.”

“I came here to check up on you, Blake,” he said, feigning offence, “and this is how you treat me. After everything I’ve done for you.”

Bellamy snorted and then winced when the movement jostled his arm. That tiny show of pain was enough to spur Clarke into action, and she strode away, returning with a terrifying looking bottle and an enormous glass of water. She poured some of the sludge into a measuring cup, and then placed the cup and the glass on the side table. 

“Bones are usually so easy to heal,” she huffed, “but you had to go and get your entire arm pulverised, so now you get to suffer.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve been dreaming of making me suffer for six years,” he commented dryly, and she rolled her eyes. He waited for her to retort, but when she didn’t, he realised she was actually _worried_ about him, biting her lip anxiously as she stared at his arm. He felt uncomfortable with the sudden rush of affection that hit him, and quickly turned to his friends to escape it. “Where’s Octavia?”

Murphy grinned, “With the rest of your team. Diyoza was right; she didn’t murder Jasper, but she was pretty damn pissed off, and it took pretty much all of them to hold her back from tackling him. I’m sure they’ll all be up here in a sec–” The word was drowned out by a loud commotion outside the doors. “Ah, speak of the devils.”

The entire Gryffindor quidditch team and half the Hufflepuff team plodded in, Octavia in the lead and all of them talking over each other as they spotted Bellamy and moved purposefully towards him. Raven limped in after them and Clarke groaned, stepping away from the bed, “Honestly, this is a hospital wing, not a common room. Take the Skele-gro Bellamy. It won’t start hurting for another twenty minutes, but when it does, I’m kicking all your friends out.”

She was already halfway down the other end of the hospital wing before Bellamy thought to thank her, so he resolved to do it later, once everyone was gone. Without a second thought, he downed the medicine, almost gagging on it. He sank the entire glass of water immediately after but the disgusting taste still sat on his tongue. 

Octavia looked livid, but at least she wasn’t throwing any punches. 

Yet.

“Are you okay?” She asked, words coming out harsh and sharp. 

“Fine, O, don’t worry.” He tried to smile but it ended up as more of a grimace. “I’ll be back on the pitch in no time.”

“He could have killed you,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you’re a fucking _idiot!_ What were you thinking, diving for the quaffle in front of Harper?! You took _two,_ you moron, if those bludgers had been any higher–”

Lincoln placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. “But they weren’t. He’s going to be okay. He’s lucky.”

“Damn right he’s lucky,” she crossed her arms, “because if he died, I was going to bring him back to life so I could _murder him.”_

Jasper shuffled forward, being nudged by Wells and Monty, who were both looking queasily at Bellamy’s elbow, but smiled amiably when they met his gaze. He was really glad he hadn’t looked at his arm. Jasper kept his head down, “I’m really sorry, man. I swear, one of those was meant for Harper, and then you moved and they both just… anyway… I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, seriously?” Jasper asked, incredulous, “but I could have killed you!”

Octavia made a strangled noise and he leapt back, but he needn’t have bothered because Lincoln’s hand on her shoulder was grounding her, keeping her from losing her shit completely. She exhaled angrily, but didn’t move. 

“It’s fine, Jasper,” Bellamy wished he could shrug. Instead, he settled for holding out his uninjured hand for his friend to shake. “I know you didn’t mean to. If it had been Dax, I might actually hold a grudge, but you’re my friend. We’re all good.”

“That’s only because Dax was _actually trying to kill you,_ ” Shaw said, and they all agreed with a shudder. 

“True,” Harper chimed in, “I was so glad when he graduated, he was a terrifying beater. Every match he played in ended with someone in the hospital wing – sometimes even people from his own team!”

“Dax is the reason Slytherin’s have a bad name,” Murphy complained, prompting an unnecessarily loud snort from Raven. He shot her a glare but she just hid another smile behind her hand. 

“You’re one to talk, you hexed Bellamy halfway through a classroom in first year,” Monty pointed out. 

“That was five years ago,” he retorted. “Besides, it was the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Everyone groaned and started throwing things at him, but Murphy just laughed and smacked Bellamy in his good arm, telling him to get better soon as he left. It was fast approaching lunchtime, so he was presumably off to call first dibs on a seat next to Emori so he could flirt with her for a while before they went to quidditch practice. 

It wasn’t long before everyone else started making their excuses as well, which he was really thankful for, because the pain Clarke promised was really starting to kick in. Wells was talking to her over in the corner, making her smile, and Bellamy watched as Madi traipsed over to hug her as well. He wondered when Clarke would have had time to befriend his second-year seeker, but he wasn’t surprised. Clarke had a habit of taking younger students under her wing. 

Soon, it was only Octavia, Lincoln, Raven and Miller surrounding his bedside, and they were mid-argument about the latest assignment from Gustus (“I swear he’s trying to poison us – last year’s seniors got to make Amortentia and Liquid Luck, and we get stuck with the Draught of Living Death!”) when Clarke came over to kick them out. 

He pretended to be annoyed, but he was beyond relieved when she shooed them out the doors and silence fell over the ward. There were only two other people in there, lying motionless in beds against the opposite wall, and Bellamy was thankful for the quiet. He swallowed a grunt of discomfort when his arm throbbed, agony lancing through him. The second wave of it was even worse, and he doubled over, muscles straining as he tried not to cry out. 

Gentle fingers started stroking up and down his spine and he finally broke, gasping in pain. Clarke hummed uneasily, hands still moving across his back, and he reached blindly out with his left hand for something to grab onto. She offered her own hand, and he worried that he was crushing it when the next surge of magic rolled over his arm, but she didn’t react at all, just kept up her comforting rhythm. 

It was a weird dichotomy of sensations; the agony lancing up his arm and reverberating through his chest, and the soft patterns she was tracing on his back, soothing him despite the pain. She smoothed her palm up his back until she reached his neck, scratching lightly at the base of his skull, and he unconsciously tilted back a little, leaning into her hand. She kept it up, burying her fingers in his hair, and he took a shaky breath as the magic slammed into him again. 

When he groaned, she made a small noise of distress in the back of her throat. 

“I wish I could make it stop hurting,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Princess,” he gritted out. 

“I know, but…” She trailed off. He waited for her to finish the thought, but she didn’t say anything. He felt sleep beckoning him, darkness edging into his vision as his body shut down in an attempt to cope with the pain, and he clutched tight to Clarke's fingers. Just when he was certain she had forgotten she had even started speaking, she squeezed his hand. “I don’t like seeing you in pain, Bellamy.”

He had enough cognizance left to realise that she didn’t just say that she disliked seeing _anyone_ in pain, but that she specifically didn’t like seeing _him_ in pain, before he felt unconsciousness snatch him away.  
  


* * *

  
  
When he woke up, it was to a light prodding on his arm. It twinged and he winced. Then there were fingers in his hair, stroking it calmingly as the other ones continued moving up and down his arm.

He cracked his eyes open. “Morning Princess. Sleep well?”

She jumped, but kept her concentration firmly on his bicep as she checked it over. “Fine. You?”

“I guess so. I don’t remember dreaming, but I also don’t remember tossing and turning in the night, so I presume it was good.”

“Do you usually dream?” She seemed to be trying to distract him with inane questions. He didn’t mind, especially when she lifted his arm up and it sent an odd sensation lurching up his arm. It wasn’t quite _painful;_ it was just immensely odd, and it made him uncomfortable. 

He clenched his jaw as he waited for the feeling to pass. “Uh, yeah. I’m usually pretty jealous of the version of me in my dreams. Unless they’re nightmares... Which they often are.” He stopped. _Why was he telling her this?_

“Me too,” she said lowly, confidentially, and he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. 

She grazed her nails against his scalp, and he wanted to nuzzle into it, never feeling more like a cat than in that moment; practically on the verge of purring at her ministrations. Awkwardness flooded his brain, and in an instant he became hyperaware of every place she was touching him, skin igniting his like kindling. He swallowed around his dry throat, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Clarke glanced up at him, frowning, before she returned her gaze to his elbow, “I work in the hospital wing, this is literally my job.”

“No I mean,” he sat up a little, clearing his throat, “you don’t have to comfort me. I can handle a little pain, and it’s nowhere near as bad as last night.”

She seemed to realise that her hand was tangled in his curls, and quickly removed it, a slight flush in her cheeks. “Sorry. It’s just… I thought it might help.”

 _“It does,_ ” he said quickly. Probably too quickly, judging by her surprised reaction. He scrambled for a something to say, and settled on, “I just mean… you shouldn’t feel obligated to make me feel better. I’m well aware that you don’t even like me, so you don’t–”

“–Is that what you think? That I don’t _like_ you?” She asked. 

“Is it not just common knowledge that we hate each other?” He raised his eyebrows in challenge, and something shuttered behind her eyes. He regretted his words almost immediately, realising that whatever goodwill he’d built up with her over the night had vanished in an instant.

She straightened, stepping back from him. When she spoke, her tone was clinical. “Your arm is mostly healed, but it might hurt for a few days while it completely resets. I suggest not training until next week. Until then, you’re allowed to go back to your dorm room, provided you make sure to eat enough, drink lots of water, and rest up. If you break it again before it’s fully healed, it’s a much longer and more painful process to deal with, and I don’t want to see you in this hospital wing again anytime soon.”

He reached out his good arm, catching her wrist before she could go too far. “Hey, Princess–”

“I have to go check on Sterling,” she muttered, yanking her arm back and stalking to the other end of the hospital where the unconscious boy lay.  
  


* * *

  
  
Things were even frostier between them than usual after that. Clarke was cold, detached, even by her standards; she refused to make eye contact with him, and when the two of them were dragged into debates, she argued fiercely and shot his answers down at every turn. It was like being back in second year again, and the classes they shared – Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms – were all tenser than ever. 

Even their friends noticed. 

“Dude, what did you do to her?” Jasper asked one afternoon, as he met them after their Herbology class to study, only to see Clarke storming away across the grounds. “It hasn’t been this bad for _years._ She didn't even laugh at our mandrake jokes. Did you make fun of her haircut or something?”

“Did you hex her quill again?” Monty joined in.

“Or make an insensitive comment about her dead dad?” Murphy added, as they arrived at the library.

“That was literally once, and I had no idea he was dead,” Bellamy groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face and flopping into the nearest chair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I did. We were talking, in the hospital wing, and then all of a sudden she just… closed off. Anyway, why are you all so sure that this is _my_ fault?”

They all sat down around the table, throwing their books in the center, and glanced at each other knowingly. He really hated it when they did that. 

Raven prodded his leg with her foot, “Because it’s probably your fault. None of the rest of us ever have a problem with Clarke – it’s literally just you.”

He was about to retort when the woman herself walked past. She didn’t even look at them, but he could tell by the way her shoulders bunched up that she knew they were there. He watched as she moved all the way to the furthest visible corner, and it was only after she disappeared behind a bookshelf that he tore his eyes away. 

Murphy picked up his pen, “I’m gonna go sit with Clarke. Whatever she’s annoyed at you about doesn’t need to transfer to me. I don’t need that shit.”

“I always appreciate your friendship, Murphy,” Bellamy jibed, but the guy just grinned and tossed a ball of paper at him as he disappeared through the shelves in search of Clarke.

Monty bumped shoulders with him, “Look on the bright side, at least you can start back at quidditch training tomorrow.”

“Which is lucky,” Harper said as she arrived, Muggle Studies books tucked under her arm, “because we’re up against Ravenclaw at the end of the month and Nyko is a _killer_ beater. They rescheduled our Hufflepuff match, to give Jasper enough time to learn how to aim without killing people, so it’s not until after the Christmas holidays. You’ll need the extra training if you want to avoid losing a leg this time.”

Jasper grumbled a complaint but Raven laughed. “True, plus we’ve got Gaia as a seeker, so you guys are _toast.”_

“Have I mentioned recently how much I hate you?” Harper asked Raven, and the two of them started a friendly fight that went on until Monty whispered something in Harper’s ear and she dragged him off to some dark corner of the library. 

“Ah, young love,” Jasper said, with the pompous air of someone four times his age. Raven choked on a laugh again, trying to focus on her essay through the giggles. 

Bellamy frowned down at his books. He loved his friends, but he really wasn’t sure what he’d done to Clarke to offend her so much, and he wasn’t close enough to her to ask without possibly aggravating her more. He didn’t like open conflict, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He sighed and dipped his quill in ink, starting on his Ancient Runes homework. 

He felt like he was missing something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, the joy I get from reading your comments is equivalent to getting an Outstanding on all the NEWTS.


	2. Bludger? I Hardly Know Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke still won't talk to Bellamy... until he takes a bludger to the face.

Clarke hadn’t even glanced in his direction in days. It wouldn’t be bothering him so much if he knew _why_ she wasn’t speaking to him, but as it was, he just couldn’t work out what he’d possibly done that had upset her. 

Plus, he had four classes with her. It’s pretty hard to avoid someone’s quiet seething when you’re sat four feet from them for two thirds of your week.

“For the love of Merlin, careful where you’re flicking that thing!” She snapped at him when an incantation went awry, singeing the hem of her robes. 

“Shit! Sorry, _sorry,_ ” he stammered, swishing his wand again to remove the flames. 

Professor Miller hummed disapprovingly at him, but it was the gentler kind; the one that came from caring, rather than thinking himself above anyone. He put a light hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Sorry son, but I’ve got to deduct house points. You set fire to another student and swore loud enough for the first years down the hall to hear you. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“Only ten?” Clarke glowered. 

“He didn’t set you on fire intentionally, Miss Griffin,” Professor Miller said patiently. 

“And you can prove that, can you?” She crossed her arms, smoke still rising up her body in dainty wisps, and her blue eyes bright with annoyance. 

Bellamy thought she looked beautiful. 

He caught Miller’s eye from across the room, and quickly ducked his head, embarrassed. Miller wasn’t the only person who knew about his thing for Clarke – in fact, he was pretty sure that the only person who _didn’t_ know was the woman herself – but he was definitely the one most likely to give him shit for it later. Murphy would tease him, but he could deal with that. Miller was his _roommate,_ the one who could corner him after dark and grill him about his feelings, and the one who’d been endlessly exasperated with him ever since he found out. 

“You’re an idiot,” Miller mouthed at him. 

Bellamy was inclined to agree. 

Things didn’t improve in Potions. Gustus decided that they were to work in pairs, but when they all reached for the people closest, he held up a hand. 

“Gryffindors and Slytherins, pair up. Hufflepuffs, you’re with Ravenclaws.” When people didn’t move fast enough, he grumbled something under his breath and shook his head. “Seeing as none of you possess the initiative – Murphy, you’re with Shaw. Harper and Emori, Miller and Roan…”

He continued rattling off names and the classroom became a flurry of movement as people shuffled to sit with their partners. Miller cursed under his breath as he packed up his books to take over to Roan’s desk, “I swear he does this just to fuck with us.”

The pairs appeared to have worked really well for some people, like Monty and Raven, who would undoubtedly be acing the class, and already seemed to be hindering others, like the excitable Jasper paired with the stoic Niylah.

“…Lincoln and Wick, Clarke and Bellamy…”

Bellamy’s heart sank. Of fucking course he would be paired with Clarke, right when she hated him the most. “Just my luck.” He muttered under his breath. 

“Sir–” Clarke started.

“No changes, Griffin,” Gustus said. 

She slumped, defeated, and moved her books over to Bellamy’s desk. When she sat down, she refused to even glance his way, and he didn’t try to speak to her – he didn’t want to push his luck this early. 

They worked together in silence, preparing ingredients and carefully adding them to the cauldron. Somewhere a few rows in front of them, a foul-smelling, dark blue smoke was pluming. 

“Jasper.” Clarke muttered under her breath, clearly concealing a smile. Her eyes returned to their own potion, watching Bellamy’s hand as he began stirring. “Counter clockwise.” She corrected.

He nodded and changed the direction of his slow circles. “How many?”

“Twelve.”

There was a pause.

“Are you–”

“No.” She said firmly. 

“Clarke–”

“No, we’re not doing this.”

“What did I do?”

She clamped her mouth shut, batting his hand away from the cauldron so she could start adding in the wormwood. He could practically feel Miller’s eyes boring into his cheek from across the room. 

“Clarke, please, what can I do to fix this?”

She dusted off her hands. “I’m just acting the way you expect me to, Bellamy. Because we hate each other, right?”

Realization washed over him and his mouth felt suddenly dry. “That is not what I meant.”

“No?” She tilted her head at him in challenge, and it was the first time she’d looked at him in a while. The force of her gaze, and the electric blue of her eyes, knocked the air out of him. “Then what did you mean?”

Before he had a chance to answer, Gustus magicked the cauldrons to the side of the room, ready to stew for the next few days, and called an end to the lesson. Clarke flitted from the room so fast that Bellamy didn’t even see her go. 

He sighed. 

“Come on, cheer up,” Harper said, waving goodbye to Emori. She sidled up to him and bumped her shoulder against his arm, “Look at it this way; we’ve got Quidditch practice after lunch.”

“And you’re gonna need the practice,” Raven teased. “You’re up against us this weekend, and we’re playing to _win.”_

“Get ready to fail,” Shaw clapped back. 

“Please, I’m easily a better keeper than you, Shaw.”

“You sure about that?” He grinned. “Why don’t we put some money on it. Or, better yet, if you win, I’ll let you look at my muggle technology–”

“–your motorbike–”

“–and if I win,” he continued, folding his arms, “You let me buy you a drink.”

Raven thought it over, frowning at him. She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

“Do you rehearse this playful banter before you do it in front of us, or…?” Monty asked. They all stifled laughter as they moved towards the Great Hall.

Murphy was on his way to detention, again, but on his way past, he leaned into Bellamy’s side, muttering, “That’s what you and Clarke used to look like.” 

Bellamy made an obscene hand gesture at him as he left, but unfortunately, Professor Dante saw it and deducted five points from Gryffindor. He could hear Murphy’s cackling all the way down the corridor.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_“–and for the second match in a row, Bellamy gets hit with a bludger. This time, however, it’s his face that’s become acquainted with it, and what a truly painful looking meeting that was. Nyko is a terrifying beater, I’m not fully convinced he’s even a student, that man looks 35–”_

_“–Diyoza!”_

Bellamy tuned out Kane and Diyoza’s arguing, focussing instead on the copious amount of blood pouring from his nose. Yeah, that was definitely broken. He pulled out a wand to fix it, but before he could, he saw Gaia streak past him, Madi following close behind. He watched them darting around in the air, mesmerized as they both reached out for something, neck and neck. 

Within seconds, Madi had the snitch, and everyone was lowering to the ground, cheering. Miller and Shaw lifted her up on their shoulders, and Harper and Monroe started chanting a song praising her. She squealed with delight when they let her down, running up to Bellamy and hugging him around the middle in excitement. He ruffled her hair, laughing, and she beamed up at him before Harper started spinning her around, and soon they were lost to the crowd, all of them headed back to the Gryffindor common room to celebrate their win. 

Octavia and Raven approached him as they walked. Raven stuck out her hand. “Good match, Captain.”

“You too Captain,” he smiled back, giving her hand a mock shake. 

Octavia grabbed his other arm, and it wasn’t long before he realised they were steering him away from the crowd and down a familiar corridor. 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Raven asked. “Your nose is broken, so we’re taking you to the hospital wing.”

He glowered. “I can fix a broken nose on my own, thank you very much.”

They walked through the doors to see Clarke bending down over a patient, facing away from them. When she turned around to see who it was, her face stretched into a mask of horror. 

“Gods, Bellamy, what the hell happened to your face?”

“A bludger hit it. It’s just a broken nose, seriously, I’m fine, I can deal with it, we’re very sorry to bother you,” he said, starting to turn away, but she was already walking purposefully towards them, determination on her face. It was like the last few weeks of animosity between them hadn’t happened, and she was back to the Clarke he knew again; caring to the point of frustration. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re here now, you may as well let someone who knows what they’re doing take a look at it.” She snapped, pushing him backwards until he was sitting down on the chair she’d just summoned from the side of the room. He marvelled at the fact that she’d managed to bring it over with barely a flick of her wand, and that she hadn’t even needed to say the words. She was an impressive witch, that was for damn certain.

“We’re gonna go join the celebrations,” Raven said, edging backwards with Octavia. Bellamy glared over Clarke’s shoulder at them, but they both just smirked.

“Oh, did you win?” Clarke asked absently, waving her wand. Bellamy felt the blood that had been dripping down his face and pooling under his chin vanish. 

“No, _unfortunately,”_ she dragged the word out. “Gryffindor seeker got the drop on ours.”

“Good for Madi,” Clarke said, smiling softly to herself. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Raven grumbled good-naturedly, hooking an arm around Octavia’s and retreating towards the door. 

“Have fun on your date with Shaw!” Bellamy yelled as they left, and Raven flicked her middle finger up as the door swung shut behind them. The hospital wing was eerily quiet, as it always was, and Clarke was very, very close to him. He felt the irrational urge to hold his breath.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t want to bother her when she had access to his injured face, so he hesitated. 

“Spit it out, Bellamy,” she said, still just grimacing at his nose. 

“It’s just… are you the only person working here?”

She let out a puff of air which might have been a laugh. “Madam Cartwig is the only real doctor here, but she needs to sleep just like the rest of us, so I step in when she’s not around – it’s a good way to earn money while I study.”

“She takes naps during Quidditch games?” He made a face, wincing when it pulled at his injury. She tutted at him. “That seems like the worst time to leave you on your own – don’t you get more people in here after the matches than any other time?”

“Surprisingly, no,” she said, stepping back so she could reach for some kind of glowing ointment, “we tend to be busiest whenever the first years have Potions or Care of Magical Creatures. Plus, Quidditch injuries tend to be surface level, and non-magical; I can deal with most of them on my own. It’s the magic based injuries that we need Madam Cartwig for.”

“Huh.” 

They lulled into silence again while Clarke rubbed some of the ointment onto the bridge of his nose, being as careful as possible not to bump him.

“Okay, this isn’t going to hurt,” she said, holding her wand out, “but it is going to make your head jerk back, kind of like whiplash, so prepare yourself.”

He nodded slowly, and she managed a sympathetic look, right before she flicked her wrist and his head lurched back with force as his nose reset itself. It was like he’d been punched, but she was right – there was no undue pain, it was just a bizarre kind of whiplash, like a reverse car accident. 

She moved close again so she could inspect her handiwork, fingers pressing his cheeks either side of his nose, and that _did_ hurt. He winced and flinched back.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, catching his jaw in her palms and guiding him back to where she could see better. 

He shrugged a shoulder. “I probably deserved that.”

A small frown appeared between her eyebrows. “No, you don’t. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you deserve to feel pain, Bellamy. You don’t deserve that, not ever.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, because the way she was looking at him was just so open and earnest and _god,_ he had never wanted to kiss her quite as much as he did in that moment. He just sat there, staring dumbly up at her while she stood between the V of his legs, his face cupped in her hands, and tried not to think about how stupidly into her he was. 

It was a hard ask. 

“I don’t hate you,” he said in a rush, breaking the moment completely. Her hands fell off his face and she stepped back a little, but her gaze never left his, and it wasn’t the cold steel he expected, but instead a wary kind of amusement. 

“Is that so?”

“Seriously, Clarke, I’ve thought you were brilliant since two weeks into first year, when I watched you win that History of Magic argument against Pramheda. She wouldn’t leave the issue alone, and you just kept arguing until you wore her down and she admitted you were right. It was like watching the Quidditch World Cup. It made me realise I might’ve been wrong in my decision to judge you so quickly, and then… then you kept being amazing. And I just felt like more and more of an idiot for not realizing sooner just how smart, and interesting, and kind you are.”

She blinked, the smile falling off her face as she processed his words. 

“I’m not that smart,” was all she said. 

He shook his head. “Yes you are.”

“So are you.”

“Not like you are.”

“Bellamy–”

“I mean it, Clarke. You’re a good person, and I… I was pretty sure we were almost friends, before I screwed it up.”

She tilted her head at him.

“You’re forgiven,” she said softly. She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Your nose is healed, but it'll still hurt for the next hour so don't put any pressure on it. Now go celebrate your win. I’m sure your team is missing their captain.”

He got to his feet, slouching a little. “Between you and me, Princess, parties aren’t really my thing.”

She grinned. “Noted. But they’re still your friends, and they probably want to see you.”

“Great.” He said unenthusiastically. 

She snorted as she started towards the desk at the back of the room. “Next time, I’ll come with you, shield you from all the fun.”

“That would be ideal, yeah.”

“You’re an idiot, go to your party,” she ordered, but it was ruined by the wide smile she was sporting. 

“See you round, Princess.”

"Not in here, I hope."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When he arrived at the Gryffindor common room, the celebrations were in full swing. 

Jasper was playing loud music from his magically amplified record player, there were red and gold decorations _everywhere,_ and people from all houses were dancing around the room, drinking a purple liquid from gold cups. He noticed Raven leaning back against Shaw as she danced, his hands around her waist, and he suppressed a smile. He would definitely be giving her shit about that later. Monty approached, handing him a cup and gesturing for him to drink it. 

He took a sip. It tasted of iced coffee and caramel, with a hint of something delicious that he couldn’t place. “What is this?”

“Jasper and I have been working on it,” he said proudly. “It’s like rum, but it’s designed to taste of things that make you happy. Mine tastes of apple juice and Harper’s lip gloss.”

“That’s… definitely too much information, Monty,” he deadpanned. 

Monty only ducked his head, chuckling. 

“Seriously though, this is brilliant.” Bellamy said. “You guys should patent it. I’m sure the Three Broomsticks would pay you a shitload if you let them sell it.”

“A shitload? That an industry term?” he asked. 

“I’m just saying, I work there, you have an in,” he shoved him in the shoulder playfully, and Monty beamed back at him. 

“We might take you up on that someday. Give us time to perfect the recipe first.” 

“Has it got a name?”

“The running title is Lunashine, like moonshine, but, y’know, more magicky.”

“Magicky – that an industry term?”

Monty snorted and refilled their cups. “You’re in a good mood. It’s unnerving, go back to being a dick.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, but there was no heat in it. “I’m always in a good mood.”

He was lying and Monty knew it, but they just grinned at each other and started discussing their Transfiguration lesson. Soon Jasper had joined them, and then Octavia, Harper, Shaw, Raven and Murphy were all sitting with them, watching the party take place around them, and laughing together into the dead of night. 

Maybe he didn’t hate parties so much after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments make me happier than Fred and George with a perfect prank idea!


	3. A Beater Pill To Swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets in a fight with some nasty Slytherins, and ends up in the hospital wing. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited that so many people seem to be enjoying this story, because I really adore writing it! This chapter is the key-up for the next chapter, which gets a *teeny* bit more angsty (because it isn't a talis story without A N G S T).
> 
> I hope you like it, because I really love writing Bellamy "step the fuck up kyle" blake.

He really wasn’t planning on starting the fight. In fact, he would pretty staunchly say that he didn’t start _shit,_ that it was Cage and Ontari who goaded him, but unfortunately, none of that matters when you cast the first spell.

He was walking to Ancient Runes with Shaw and Monty, and they were a few yards from the classroom when Cage, Emerson and Ontari blocked their path. It was a common routine, one that had dropped off in the last year or so, but which used to happen every week in his first few years at Hogwarts. People like them were the reason Slytherins still had a bad name – they wanted blood purity, and they attacked anyone who didn’t meet that standard. Unfortunately, they were sneaky about it; if Kane could prove they’d been inciting violence against muggleborns, he would have kicked them out years ago, but they only ever started fights when there were no witnesses. 

Like today. 

“Can I help you, Wallace?” He asked, feigning politeness. 

“Yeah, Blake, why don’t you drop dead, save us the trouble of killing you?” Ontari replied. 

Bellamy didn’t bother keeping his sigh internal. “Not only is that a terrible comeback, but your girlfriend had to say it for you. Life must be rough for guys like you.”

Cage glowered, and unable to come up with a response, he just crossed his arms angrily as if that would scare them. Unfortunately for him, Bellamy had long since given up being frightened of Slytherin elitism. He shoved past them, Shaw and Monty at his heels, but as they got to the end of the corridor, Cage made the mistake of yelling after him. 

“Heard your sister’s dating that Arbor kid. Does he know what stock she comes from?”

He froze, hands curling into fists, and Monty tugged on his elbow. “Bellamy, he’s trying to get a rise out of you and you know it, just walk away.”

Cage called out again. “You know she’s here for a whole two years after you graduate, Blake. What’s she gonna do when you’re not here to watch her?”

“She can watch herself,” Bellamy said, as coolly as he could.

“I don’t know, I know some kids in fifth year who’d be _happy_ to keep an eye on her for you.” 

This time, it was Shaw who turned around. “Hey, here’s an idea! How about you back off, Cage.”

“Aw, look at the little mudblood, sticking up for the big mudblood and his little skank of a sister. It’s almost heartwarming. Makes me wanna puke.” Ontari said snidely, and Bellamy didn’t need to look at her to know she was grinning in that slimy way she did when she thought she’d won. She sounded closer the next time she spoke. “Maybe we should get rid of all you all now. No-one would care you know – if you disappeared. People might even thank us. We’d be doing the world a service, removing vermin like you.”

Bellamy took a deep breath in through his nose. 

Exhaled through his mouth. 

Relaxed his hands. 

Nodded.

And then he spun around, wand flying into his hand as he shouted, _“Stupefy!”_ and Emerson, who’d stupidly jumped in front of Ontari, went flying backwards, taking her down with him. Cage was the only one left standing, and he flicked his wrist, yelling something incomprehensible that sent Shaw sprawling. Bellamy looked over his shoulder at his friend, who was pushing himself up onto his knees.

“You okay?”

“Grand.” Shaw coughed. “Kick his ass.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Bellamy replied, sending an incantation towards Cage, who dove out of the way, just barely avoiding it by sprinting around the corner and out of sight. Ontari was back on her feet, and she whipped her wand towards him, but Bellamy ducked, feeling the curse ripple the air over his head. He didn’t have a chance to move out of the way of her second attack, however, which was a glowing white light that shot towards him. It sliced across his face, catching his cheek, his lip, his eyebrow.

He stumbled.

Ontari raised her wand again, but Monty got there first. “Petrificus Totalus!” He cried out, and then her arms and legs snapped together and she felt backwards, completely frozen. 

“That all you got, Blake?” Cage jeered, striding back in as if he hadn’t just run from the fight. “Have to hide behind actual wizards now, mudblood?”

Bellamy sent a Bat Bogey Hex flying in his direction and he ducked it, cursing.

“Funny thing, us muggleborns; we’re always doing things you don’t expect,” Bellamy said, storming forward, and Cage had only just got his bearings again when Bellamy’s fist hit his face with enough force to break his nose. Cage dropped like a bag of rocks. “You _‘actual wizards’_ tend to forget that fighting isn’t all about casting spells. Us mudbloods learn to fight with our hands first.”

He punched him again. 

“Bellamy Blake!” Jaha’s voice echoed through the hallway and he flinched. He had emerged from the classroom they were heading towards, presumably once he heard the noise. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like, sir? I’m teaching Cage a lesson.” He growled, unable to keep the venom from his voice. 

“Some lesson, Mr Blake,” Jaha said wryly. He gestured at Wallace, “I think he gets it. You can probably release him now.”

Bellamy hadn’t even realised he was still holding Cage up by his shirt, and when he let it go, he fell sideways, seemingly unconscious. He raised his hands and stepped away, glancing over the hallway strewn with unconscious Slytherins. It didn’t look great, but he lifted his chin up, maintaining eye contact with his teacher when he called back to Shaw. “You okay Zeke?”

“No, he’s not,” Monty said. “Whatever Ontari did to him is making his throat swell up. He needs to go to the hospital wing.”

“Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr Blake, and a weeks worth of detentions. I’m very disappointed in you, I thought you’d realised by now that not every problem is solved with violence.”

“Some of them are.” He said defiantly. 

Jaha sighed, looking down at the students. “Take Mr Shaw to the hospital wing, I'll get someone to take notes from the lesson so you don't fall behind. I’ll deal with these three myself.”

Bellamy nodded and made to move away, turning, but the second he took a step onto his right leg, something made a terrifying pop and he went careening into the wall. He steadied himself against it, waiting for the pain to hit him. It did _not_ take long to arrive, pounding through his leg so hard it made his head spin.

“Cage Wallace, put that wand down, right now!” Jaha roared. 

Through the pain, Bellamy registered that Jaha could be really terrifying when he wanted to. He heard the light clatter of Cage’s wand meeting the floor, and his pitiful pleas as Jaha loomed over him. 

“Mr Green, Mr Shaw, I believe Bellamy is going to have some trouble reaching the hospital wing on his own. If you might consider assisting him,” Jaha suggested, and then Monty and Shaw were at his side, each taking one arm and throwing it over their shoulders. Bellamy limped forward, trying not to put any weight on his leg. He was also trying not to look at it, although he was familiar with this particular injury – dislocated knee – and he at least knew that it wouldn’t be too frightening to look at. Not as frightening as an entire pulverised arm, at least. 

“Shoulda known,” Shaw wheezed, “that you couldn’t let me come out of this fight with the worst injury. You’ve gotta curb that competitive streak, Blake.”

He laughed, leaning even more weight on them as the pain worsened. “Sorry Shaw. Next time I’ll just punch _you_ in the face and tell everyone you fought Cage.”

“That’s what a decent friend would do, yeah,” he grinned. 

Monty just shook his head. “You two are ridiculous.”

They nodded their agreement, and Monty muttered something under his breath, smiling despite himself. It wasn’t long before they ended up at the Hospital Wing doors, pushing awkwardly through them as they tried not to drop Bellamy in the process. They fumbled him, but he managed to stay up, and then resumed their slow forward shuffle.

He could see a familiar head of blonde hair bobbing between the beds, and she looked up as they entered. Her face immediately morphed into a rather angry frown. 

“Dammit Bellamy, I thought I said I didn’t want to see you in here again!” Clarke snapped, stalking towards them. 

“Whoa, wait, I thought you two had patched things up?” Monty asked, eyeing her warily. 

“We have,” she said, “which is exactly why I don’t want him in here. For Merlin’s sake, Bellamy, this is your third severe injury in the past month. You know there are some students who have literally never stepped foot in here? And you’ve been here three times in five weeks, and one of those times was _four days ago._ Do you go looking for trouble or does it find you on its own?”

While she spoke, she was summoning a vial of black liquid and backing them towards the nearest bed. He didn’t even bother answering her question; he wasn’t sure she’d like his answer anyway. 

“Shaw, you find a bed too – you need to sit down.” She ordered. Shaw’s steadying presence left his side and he pitched forward, only for Clarke to catch him, one hand gripping his bicep and the other placed firmly on his chest. He stared at her through the curls that had fallen in his eyes, and she gazed back, her eyebrows knitted together with worry. She jerked her head at Monty, “Help me get him on here.”

They helped him sit up on the bed, lifting his feet up once his back was against the pillows, and she was careful not to tug too hard on his injured one. Now that he could see it, leg below the knee sticking out at a completely unnatural angle, he found himself wondering if the pulverised arm would’ve looked so bad in comparison. 

She sent a sympathetic look his way, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to help Shaw first, his throat is–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he grunted, waving her away, “help him.”

She started examining Shaw’s face, instructing him to open his mouth so she could see down his throat. “Do you know what incantation it was that did this to you?”

Shaw shook his head, no longer able to speak. His breaths were coming out in short gasps. 

“It was more than one word,” Monty offered helpfully, “and it was a sort of… flick of the wrist, like he was throwing something heavy.”

She tutted in that way only doctors can, and pulled something from her pocket. “I’m gonna pour this onto your tongue, okay? It doesn’t taste good, but within a couple of seconds, you should be able to breathe normally again. If that doesn’t work, there’s always a tracheotomy.”

Shaw visibly relaxed, and he probably would have laughed if he had the oxygen for it. Bellamy _did_ laugh, and received an odd look from Monty. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Sorry, it’s a muggle joke,” he explained. “A Tracheotomy is muggle surgery, where they cut a hole in your windpipe so you can breathe.”

Monty made a face. “That sounds awful.”

“Actually, it’s surprisingly effective,” Clarke said, tipping a silver powder into Shaw’s mouth. “Although we’ve definitely found some solutions that require less exertion.”

“Like glitter,” Bellamy agreed in mock seriousness, gesturing at the powder. “Just pour glitter on the problem area, that’ll fix it.”

She scrunched her face up in an effort to conceal her amusement, but gave up and allowed a begrudging smile to cross her face. She stepped back from Shaw, watching as his breathing returned to normal. 

He slumped back against the pillow, relieved. “Thanks Griffin.”

“Anytime,” she winked at him before turning back to Bellamy. She started examining his leg. “So what did you do? There aren’t any quidditch matches today, so these can’t be from that.”

She passed Bellamy something that looked like a cough-drop and he took it, finding that it tasted of lemons. Then, without any warning, she swirled her wand down over his knee and it popped back into place with a dull thunk. He winced automatically, expecting pain and receiving none. Thank god for magic.

“We could have had training,” Shaw protested. 

She didn’t even glance back at him, she just pointed in the direction of his neck as she examined Bellamy’s newly set leg, “Do your teammates really hate you that much, Shaw? Odd. I always thought you were pretty likeable, myself.”

“They got in a fight,” Monty answered for them. 

_“No shit,”_ she said, and her expression wasn’t visible, but she was definitely rolling her eyes. “Who with?”

The question was answered when Jaha entered the Hospital Wing, Cage Wallace in tow. Ontari and Emerson must have been fine, because they weren’t with him, and Bellamy found that a small part of him was wishing he’d done more damage. Cage’s face was pretty beat-up though, and he _really_ tried to curb the bitter flicker of pride that went through him at that. Jaha was right – he should know better than to be drawn into fights by now. 

“Just sit him down over there,” Clarke said, straightened to face them and nodding at a chair on the opposite wall, “I’ll get to him in a minute.”

“Should I get Madam Cartwig?” Jaha asked. 

“No, I got this.”

“Do you need me to stay?”

She crossed her arms and stepped to the end of the bed, as if to shield Bellamy and Shaw from Cage’s view. “Can you guarantee Mr Wallace will be well-behaved?” 

Cage bristled, “He attacked us first!”

“That’s enough, Wallace,” Jaha barked. “We all know you have a talent for provoking reactions out of students. Would you like me to take _more_ house points?”

“No Sir.”

“Good. If I find out you’ve caused any more trouble after I’ve left, you will be sent straight to Kane’s office, you understand?”

He nodded sullenly. Jaha waved stiffly to the rest of them before he left, his cloak swaying dramatically after him. Shaw ran a hand over his head, “Y’know, for a Hufflepuff, Jaha can be surprisingly scary.”

“So can Monty,” Bellamy pointed out, and Monty looked a little embarrassed. “Seriously, Clarke, you should have seen him; he took out Ontari.”

“Urgh, she was there?” Clarke asked, making a face. _“Bitch._ Good for you, Monty.”

“Yeah, it was Cage, Ontari and Emerson,” Shaw confirmed. 

“The usual.” Bellamy agreed.

Clarke muttered something under her breath before she looked to Shaw. “If you like, you can go back to your dorm. Bellamy will have to remain here for the next half-hour, but you’re free to go. If you feel any tightness in your chest or throat though, come back immediately. Monty, can you keep an eye on Zeke? Make sure he’s not doing anything too strenuous for the next few hours.”

“So what you’re saying is, you want me to cockblock him and Raven?” he asked, lips twitching.

“That’s _exactly it,_ yeah,” she winked at the two of them, and Shaw started stammering excuses, flushing. Monty bundled him from the room, both of them calling back a thanks to Clarke as they left.

Clarke returned to Bellamy, eyes raking over the series of small cuts all over his face. Her fingertips were soft on his cheeks and he tried really hard not let his eyes flutter at her touch. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. She picked up the black vial she’d summoned earlier and started dabbing the liquid onto the cuts. Her voice was low, empathetic, when she asked, “The usual?” 

He took a deep breath. “I used to get in a lot of fights back before fifth year. Anyone who looked at me wrong, or made a comment that rubbed me the wrong way made me want to push back. I was angry, and lonely, and I didn’t have any parents to tell me what the right thing to do was anymore. Eventually, after a lot of detentions, and a lot of meetings with Kane, I stopped being so quick to throw the first punch. But those three… I’d see them, torturing smaller kids for fun, whenever they thought the teachers couldn’t see. So I kept putting myself in the middle, the way I used to do with my sister and her dad.”

Her eyes crinkled with concern, hands stilling on his face. 

_“Bellamy._ ” There was something cracked, heartbroken, in the way she said his name, and he inexplicably felt like crying. He’d never told anyone this much before, and now that he’d started, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

“So they have a particular grudge against me, and they go out of their way to piss me off. It happens a lot, but I almost never actually start a fight anymore. As long as they’re focussed on me, they’re not focussing on the kids.” He swallowed, meeting her eyes. “That’s how I knew you weren’t one of them. I saw you, in first year, comforting Charlotte after some Gryffindor boys shoved her into the dirt. Then, a couple of weeks later, I saw Ontari hex Charlotte so she bumped into one of those boys, and he got so mad at her and she was crying, and then he raised his wand and I just… I tackled him, just as Indra appeared. It was my first ever detention here.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, one hand still on his cheek and the other searching for his. When he took it, she wound their fingers together, and for a long moment they just sat there, enjoying the silence. 

“Hey Griffin, if you could stop chatting and come fix my face, that would be great!” Cage yelled, making her flinch in surprise. She seemed to have forgotten he was there, and she wasn’t the only one. Bellamy snapped out of the daze he’d been in and glared over her shoulder.

Clarke made sure Cage could see it when she rolled her eyes in his direction, “I have to finish up here, but don’t worry, I’ll get to you at some point.”

“Well if you’d stop chatting to that mudblood boyfriend of yours and actually help–”

He was cut off with a flick of Clarke’s wand, thick black tape appearing over his mouth, and handcuffs suddenly clamping him to the bedframe. Her face was a mask of fury and she half standing, gripping her wand so tight Bellamy thought it might break. _“What did you say, Wallace?”_

He struggled against the cuffs, his wand on the table, too far out of reach for him to grab. 

“Now you’re going to sit there for as long as I tell you to. You’re going to stay completely silent while I check on everyone in this ward. And when I’m done, and _only_ when I’m done, I’ll tend to your injuries. Understood?” Her voice was like ice and her knuckles were white from the anger in her fists. “Nod if you understand.”

Cage’s eyes widened with genuine, unfettered fear, and he nodded slowly. 

“Good.” She snapped, and then it was like all the fury left her and she just looked tired. Bellamy reached out, fingers brushing against hers as she loosened her hold on her wand. He extricated it from her grip enough for their hands to almost clasp again, tugging her gently until she was back in her place on the edge of his mattress. She sighed sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Bellamy scoffed. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For people like that. For the fact that your first few years here were so hard. For not being your friend sooner.”

“That last one was at least partially on me, Princess,” he said, and she managed a small smile. “But we’re friends now, right?”

She squeezed his hand. “Yeah, Bellamy. We’re friends.”

“Good, because being partnered with you in potions was going to suck if you kept ignoring me.”

She ducked her head, shamefaced. “Shut up, I was not ignoring you.”

His jaw didn’t actually drop, but it was a close thing. “You definitely were. You were trying so hard not to even _look_ at me that you almost let me screw up the potion.”

“Okay,” she conceded, “maybe I was a little.”

“Just a little,” he repeated cheekily and she huffed. 

“If you could actually read instructions, you wouldn’t have even noticed that.” She complained. 

“Of course I would,” he confessed, and his voice fell into a whisper. “It’s hard _not_ to notice you, Princess.”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, flustered, and he immediately regretted his admission. Before he had a chance to address it, however, the doors opened and a first year ran in, blood dripping down his arm. Her hand slipped from his as she jogged over to help, and he spent the next twenty minutes cursing his stupid mouth until Clarke told him he was free to go. 

He tried to convince himself that she hadn’t even noticed his slip up - the fact that he’d muttered something far too close to a love declaration - but his brain was in overdrive. He tried to act nonchalant as he left, smiling at her in the most platonic way he could.

And if the fact that she reached out to squeeze his hand as he passed made his heart skip, well that was nobody’s business but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make me happier than Dumbledore with a Sherbet Lemon!! <3


	4. Snitches Get Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title puns will continue to get worse!
> 
> Also Bellamy's detention doesn't go as well as he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually slides another chapter across the table*
> 
> Will this finally be enough to tip the scales and make the trailer drop???
> 
> I mean, no, probably not, but a girl can dream...

“That has to be unethical!” Miller said, his voice rising.

Bellamy made frantic motions for him to be quieter. Miller only shrugged in lieu of an apology and Bellamy sighed. “I don’t know, but there’s not much I can do about it.”

“Why don’t you just complain to Kane?” He asked.

They were in the library poring over their Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, because Diyoza would actually kill him if he was late handing it in again, when Miller had seen the red marks on the inside of Bellamy’s arm. He’d tried to pull his sleeve down, the way he had been for the last couple of days, but it was too late. 

He had to explain to Miller that he’d been doing detentions with Professor Wallace – Cage’s dad. Wallace had sat him down at a desk facing an old oil painting, and told him to write lines. The quill on the desk was huge and darker than the night sky, and when Bellamy picked it up to write the first word, something twinged in his left arm. He glanced down, only to see that the words he was writing were carving themselves into his forearm in time with his movements.

_I will not incite violence._

_I will not cause others pain._

_I will accept the punishment for my actions._

Those three lines, over and over again until his arm was red raw and aching, yet still he refused to show any sign of the pain on his face; he wasn’t giving Dante the satisfaction. It had gone on for three nights like that, and he’d been wearing long-sleeved shirts every day, telling himself that he just didn’t want to worry anyone.

He hadn’t told anyone; not Octavia, not Miller, not even Clarke, which he knew was stupid because if anyone could help him with the pain it was her. It was especially stupid because they had been spending even more time together lately; in class, in the library going over Potions notes, and one afternoon when they bumped into each other in the owlery and he ended up spending the entire rest of the day with her.

Then on Thursday, an hour before his next scheduled detention, Miller had noticed a flash of red above his sleeve. Which is why they were sitting in a dark corner of the library having a hushed argument over how bad it really was.

Bellamy groaned, letting his head fall back against the nearest shelf. “What if Kane knows, and telling him just makes the punishment worse?”

“He wouldn’t,” Miller said. “He _couldn’t possibly know about this._ He’d have a heart attack. Kane would never condone this kind of punishment on a student, or anyone.”

He only frowned, unsure. 

It was Miller’s turn to groan in frustration. “Aren’t you even trying to fix it?”

“I’ve been keeping the swelling down, but there’s no point in trying to fix it before my detentions are up, or Wallace will notice.”

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not thrilled about it either.” He snapped. 

“Clarke’s going to kill you,” Miller said sagely. “The second she finds out you’ve been keeping this from her, she’s going to be _pissed.”_

“That’s my problem.” He growled, elbowing him. “Now are you actually going to help me with this protection charm essay or just continue arguing with me for the next hour?”

“I can’t decide, how about we flip a coin?”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
That night’s detention was worse. 

He didn’t know what had annoyed Professor Wallace, but something had clearly gotten on his nerves, because he made Bellamy write twice as many lines as usual, and levelled a steely glare at him the entire time.

_I will not incite violence._

_I will not cause others pain._

_I will accept the punishment for my actions._

By the time Bellamy stumbled out of his office, his arm was dripping blood, and he wrapped it up as best he could before heading to the Hospital Wing. He couldn’t avoid it this time – if he didn’t do something about the pain, he was going to pass out. He hoped that Madam Cartwig was awake, because he really didn’t want to have to explain this to Clarke.

Naturally, Clarke was there.

“Does anyone else even work here?” He asked, and her head whipped up in surprise. She closed the book she’d been leaning over and half stood, but he waved her off. “I’m fine, I just need some Murtlap Essence.”

She eyed him suspiciously. _“Why?”_

“Uh…” 

“What did you do?”

“Are you gonna let it go if I say ‘nothing’?” 

She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He sighed, tugging the part of his cloak that was wrapped around his arm away to reveal what used to be a white sleeve. It was soaked through with his own blood, red trickling down his fingers the second the pressure of his cloak had been removed. Within seconds, it was dripping onto the floor. 

“What the fuck.” She hissed, grabbing his elbow and pulling him closer so she could see it in the light. She gently lifted his arm onto the table and peeled back his sleeve. The second she saw the writing on his skin, her mouth snapped shut and her something hardened behind her eyes. Her free hand gripped the back of the chair she’d just vacated and she wasn’t blinking; just staring at his forearm. “Did Dante Wallace do this to you?”

He frowned, confused. “How did you–”

“Because I’ve seen this before.” Her voice was steel but her bottom lip was quivering like his pain was hurting her too. _“Did Dante Wallace do this?”_

He nodded, not willing to trust his vocal chords when she was looking at him like that, and she swallowed angrily. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She asked.

“I figured if he noticed I was trying to heal it, he would lean on me even harder.” He said. “And I… I didn’t want anyone to know. I don’t want to worry anyone.”

Her left arm curled around his bicep and it was only then that he realised how they were standing. He was practically caging her in against the desk, his chest pressed to her back and both her hands on his arm, her touch gentle to avoid hurting him. He felt heat rush into his cheeks at their closeness, but she seemed to barely notice, only tucking herself further into his side to see his injuries better. 

“You have to tell me, Bellamy,” she said quietly. “Please.”

He heard the unspoken words – _even if you don’t tell anyone else_ – and he found himself nodding into her shoulder. 

“Okay.”

“Promise me,” she whispered. 

“I promise,” he leaned his cheek against her head. “It’s really not that bad, Princess, it looks worse than it feels.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, she pushed her own sleeve back off her right arm, revealing familiar scars. While the writing on Bellamy’s went from his elbow to his wrist in three distinct rows, hers was a single line just before the crease of her elbow:

_I bear it so they don’t have to._

It was completely healed, just a slight shade paler than the rest of her forearm, and he wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t held it up for him, but the sight of it made something stir low in his gut.

“He did this to you?” He asked, trying and failing to swallow down his rage. 

She sighed. “A long time ago. I took the blame for something, because I knew the person would be punished severely, maybe even expelled for what they did, and that my consequences would be less. The one advantage of having my mother, I suppose. Dante knew. When I sat down to detention, he asked why I’d done it. He pointed out that I was the one who was going to bear the brunt of his punishment, so I said…”

“You bore it so they didn’t have to.” He realised.

“And he laughed at me. Told me that he felt the same way, and that I should have the reminder of it on my skin, always.” She laughed, humourless. “He made sure of that.”

“I…” But he didn’t know what to say. 

He held her elbow, running a thumb over the writing etched permanently into her forearm and wishing he could wipe it away. 

“It’s okay,” she said, sensing his worry. “It isn’t the first tattoo I wanted, but I’m used to it now.”

“You were a _child.”_ He said, and she must have been able to hear how appalled he sounded. He’d never been very good at concealing his feelings.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

He wanted to comfort her, to help, but it was an old wound and its foundations ran deeper than he could reach. So instead, he turned her around and pulled her into a hug. It was all he could do, and it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it was everything he could offer. He felt the way she burrowed into the crook of his neck, the brush of her lips against his skin, the way her arms clung to his shoulders like he was all she had. His uninjured right arm scooped around her waist, holding her to him, but his left stayed propped on the table beside her and he hated that he couldn’t hold her properly. 

_One day,_ his mind offered.

He tried to shake the thought and just be in the moment, nosing further into her hair and feeling her sigh against him. 

_One day._

When she pulled away, her eyes were already searching for his, catching them and holding his gaze. They both stood there, far too close and completely captivated by each other, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been when they were interrupted by a cough. 

Clarke flinched backwards, hitting the table and glancing over Bellamy’s shoulder. 

“No, please, continue doing… whatever that was.” Murphy’s familiar drawl echoed around the room and Bellamy had never wanted to punch him as much as he did in that moment. 

“Sit.” Clarke said, immediately back to her clinical tone, gesturing at both of them. 

When he turned, he could see Murphy’s black eye and blood from somewhere on top of his head, and he made a face at him in question as they pulled up chairs. 

“I got in a fight.” Murphy offered as explanation. Clarke pulled a grey paste from a nearby shelf and handed it to him, a practiced motion, as if it was something they did often; maybe it was. He jerked a head at Bellamy’s arm, “What about you; attack a lawnmower?”

“Detention.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your detention sliced up your arm like that? What did you _do,_ punch through the trophy cabinet?”

Bellamy realised his arm was now bleeding so much that the words weren’t visible, and he took the cloth Clarke handed him and swiped it down his skin, trying to suppress a wince. The words reappeared, sharp red against his tan skin, and he could sense Clarke’s worry as she busied herself making a bowl full of Murtlap Essence. 

Murphy’s eyes widened. “What the fuck is that?”

“I recommend not getting detention with Dante Wallace,” he groaned. 

“Shit,” he shook his head. “That’s fucked up.”

“You’re telling me.” Bellamy muttered.

Clarke ducked into the storeroom to find something and the second she was out of sight, Murphy levelled a pointed look at him. “So… what did I just walk in on?”

_“Nothing.”_

“Bullshit. That was whatever the opposite of ‘nothing’ is. You could have cut the sexual tension in here with a knife. Not that you two haven’t always been like that, but usually you’re arguing through the attraction; this is the first time I’ve ever seen you both look… I don’t even know, man. You looked…” He trailed off, searching for the words, and Clarke returned to the room, tipping an orange liquid into the bowl. Bellamy glared at him, willing him not to continue, but Murphy couldn’t resist one last dig. “It was hot, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I hate you,” Bellamy grumbled. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand, “whatever.”

Clarke dipped a cloth into the bowl, thoroughly soaking it before she carried it over, placing it carefully over Bellamy’s arm. It was cold, but almost instantly soothing and he felt the heat of the pain receding, replaced by the cool hum of the magic as it filled the cuts. 

“This won’t get rid of the words, but it’ll make it hurt less,” she explained, tutting. “I don’t know why you didn’t come to me sooner, you didn’t have to spend so many days like this.”

“I’m fine, Princess, really. It hasn’t been that bad; today was the worst. He made me write twice as much as usual.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “It’s the anniversary of his wife’s death.”

“Glad I was there to help him through it,” he said dryly.

She glanced at him anxiously, “Bellamy–”

“It’s okay, Clarke,” he said, catching her fingers briefly. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself.”

“Debatable,” Murphy muttered.

Bellamy elbowed him in the ribs. “Fix your face and shut up.”

“Rude.”

“Fuck off.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at them. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Shut up, you know we’re your favourites,” Murphy retorted, and she blushed from her ears to her chest, averting her eyes and tugging at her shirt, embarrassed. Bellamy blinked. He was one of Clarke’s favourite people? That just didn’t make sense to him – yet her reaction told him it was true. He filed that away to freak out about later and tried to school his face into a blank expression. Murphy’s shit-eating grin was enough for him to know that he hadn’t succeeded. 

“And you wonder why people punch you,” Clarke grumbled under her breath. 

“No, I really don’t.” He winked. 

She – wisely – chose to ignore him, moving instead to Bellamy’s side and lifting the cloth to inspect his arm. She swapped it out for a new one, and the pain lessened again. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying it, and when he opened them, both Murphy and Clarke were staring back at him. Murphy was wearing something close to concern, but Clarke looked downright worried, biting her lip as her eyes darted across his face.

“It’s fine, Princess,” he said. “Only two more days left – my last one is Saturday night and then I’m done.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through it at all,” she said darkly. 

He sighed.

“I’m serious, Bellamy,” she poked him in the chest, the way she used to when they argued in class. “You don’t deserve this.”

He stared at her for a long moment, letting her words sink in. When it didn’t look like he was going to say anything, she opened her mouth to argue again, but he just nodded slowly. “Okay.”

She exhaled shakily, and he realised she’d been expecting him to disagree. Maybe she knew him too well. 

She removed the cloth from his arm, then bandaged it up and handed him a vial of something "for the pain". She also made him swear that he would come back the next two nights to make sure it didn't get infected, but he had a feeling it was so that she could check up on how he was coping. It was sweet, that she felt the need to keep an eye on him, and he didn't really know how to deal with it, so he just smiled lopsidedly at her, wondering how she could possibly be unaware of his feelings when they must be all over his face. 

“Both of you need to get some sleep, it’s late.” She said, and her hand came up to rest on Bellamy’s cheek briefly. He closed his eyes at the sensation, but it was gone before he could commit it to memory. When he opened them, she was making a show of examining Murphy’s face, and there was a faint blush creeping up her neck again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“You know she already likes you, right?” Murphy asked as they walked back to their dorms.

“Shut up, Murphy.”

“I’m serious. You spent that entire time just staring at her like you were worried she was gonna start yelling at you again. She isn’t. And if she is, it’s only because she cares about you.”

Bellamy ran a hand down his face. “Yeah? And how would you know?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at him, expressionless. “You are aware I was friends with her before I was friends with you, right?”

Shit. He’d forgotten about that. 

“Yeah.” He lied. “But…”

“But you don’t think she would talk to her friends about you?” Murphy asked, and there was something resembling a shit-eating grin on his newly healed face. Bellamy pushed down the urge to punch it; a common urge around his best friend. Murphy started walking again, casual as can be, “You should hear the conversations she has with Wells; she’s my friend, but they’ve known each other since childhood and they tell each other everything. Your name has come up more than once in the last few weeks.”

“You’re messing with me,” he hypothesised. 

“Just giving you something to think about, Blake.” He said, still grinning, and disappeared down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this one was a bit more angsty, but I promise this is as angsty as this story gets!! Only rom-com-style angst from now on!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Your kudos and comments cheer me up more than a knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley!!


	5. Seek and Ye Shall Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy breaks his fingers and Murphy decides to poke fun at the Blarke of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi cuties! Just a quick announcement:
> 
> So on my tumblr, I talked about some stuff I'm going through at the moment that's making it hard to get anything done, not to mention the pile of university assessments I'm drowning under. In [this post](https://talistheintrovert.tumblr.com/post/183487530100/semi-hiatus) I explained that I'm going on a bit of a semi-hiatus from tumblr, and from writing fic, due to the mental toll that everything has been taking on me lately. I still love this show and these characters and all the stories I have in the works, more than anything, and I'm not abandoning them AT ALL, but if I ever want them to be at the standards I expect of myself, I need to take a break to get my head right. 
> 
> This fic is actually finished and I just need to edit the last few chapters, so I will continue updating it, but most of my other projects are briefly on hold while I attempt to get my life together. I hope you all understand, and I promise I won't be away for too long, but it does mean that there will be a short pause on everything (except this fic, I promise). 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, and I think it's important to mention that if you're feeling depressed or anxious or suicidal, and you're not coping on your own, that you should always reach out. Whether it's to your friends or family or a mental health professional; don't suffer in silence. That's something I've been doing all my life, and it's an incredibly unhealthy habit that I'm working to break out of. Don't be like me: _ask for help when you need it._

Quidditch practice hadn’t gone particularly well. It started badly when they realised they’d double-booked the pitch with the Slytherin team (Diyoza’s doing, no doubt – she really loved messing with them) and only got worse from there. 

Beaters were supposed to be a tight-knit unit, but since day one on the team, Octavia and Monroe had practically refused to work together. They both did their jobs – they hit the Bludgers, hard, at anyone not in red robes – but Bellamy knew that if they actually started listening to each other, they could be unstoppable. However, as per usual, Octavia was being way too aggressive and Monroe was arguing with her about her tactics. 

Then, of course, Roan and Anya both had to swerve out of the way of Octavia’s vengeful Bludgers, and the whole Gryffindor team winced as the entire Slytherin team came speeding over to accuse them of doing it on purpose. 

Rain started pelting them not ten minutes in, and despite both teams promising to stick to only one half of the pitch, people started flying into each other due to poor visibility. 

Emori barrelled into Miller, who went spinning out, slamming into Octavia as he passed. Not expecting it, she’d fallen from her broom, and it was only Bellamy’s nosedive towards the ground that saved her; he caught her inches from the grass, slowing them down enough for her weight to only throw them the extra foot to the ground. She was fine, mostly just shaken, and rolled to her feet almost immediately, searching for her broomstick in the sky.

Bellamy, however, wasn’t so lucky. 

In his attempts to save his sister, his fingers had caught on her Quidditch robes, and she had landed on them. He cradled his right hand in his left and frowned down at it. His fingers were definitely broken. 

Harper and Monroe rushed over, slipping a little on the wet grass, but he waved them off, “Don’t stop on my account; I’ll fix them later, we really need to practice.”

“Nope,” Miller landed next to him, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. “You need to get them fixed now, or they’ll be harder to fix later.”

He brushed him off. “I’m fine, Miller.”

“Clarke’s on shift.” He said, staring him down. 

Bellamy fidgeted under his gaze, hating himself for how easily it was to be swayed by just the mention of her name. Miller could see him caving, so he offered to walk him down, but Murphy, who had been watching the whole exchange with glee, stepped in.

“I’ll take him,” he said, clapping Bellamy on the shoulder, “Emori has this under control, and your team will need you around if Blake isn’t here; someone’s got to whip them into shape.”

Miller hovered, unsure, but Bellamy shrugged. “We shouldn’t be too long anyway – it’s only fingers this time.”

Murphy started walking Bellamy to the edge of the pitch, listening to Miller as he corralled everyone back into the air, and Emori as she yelled pointers to her chasers. They walked in silence for the most part, and he had a feeling that the Slytherin captain had only come with him to get a break from the rain, but he didn’t bring it up. Unfortunately, the silence became more and more charged as they walked, and he could practically _feel_ the snarky comment coming. 

“Is flirting by constant self-injury really the way you want to play this, Blake?” Murphy asked.

_There it was._

“Shut up, it wasn't on purpose,” Bellamy grumbled, clutching at his fingers.

“I'm just saying, most people would probably just ask the girl out. Then, I suppose, most people are normal.”

Bellamy would have made an obscene hand gesture at his friend but he knew it would hurt too much, so he aimed a kick at him instead. “I hate you.”

“You realise I’m one of Clarke’s closest friends, right? I could end your chances now if I decide you’re unworthy of her.” 

He scoffed, “Whatever.”

Murphy smirked, “You’re right, I wouldn’t, but I think that’s a testament to my growth more than anything else. In First Year, I would have.”

“In First Year you would have sold me for a chocolate frog.”

 _“Growth.”_ He reiterated, smile widening into something less teasing and more genuine. Bellamy couldn’t help returning it, and by the time they reached the Hospital Wing, they were deep in discussion about the latest Quidditch World Cup stats. 

“–and I’m telling you, Axton’s the best seeker we’ve seen in thirty years,” Bellamy argued, much to Murphy’s obvious annoyance. Clarke’s appearance ended the discussion, but he wasn’t complaining. He instantly forgot that he was mid-disagreement and turned to smile at her instead. “Hey Princess.”

“Hey,” she said, putting her book down. “What did you break this time?”

He held up his hand.

She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, “I can’t believe you’ve made it this many years without me, I honestly can’t.”

“Neither can I,” he said before he could stop himself, and she blinked up at him in surprise. It didn’t last more than a second before she was examining his fingers, but he was fairly certain he’d seen something in the way she looked at him – something important. It really didn’t help matters that Murphy was standing just out of Clarke’s eye-line, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

He'd been insufferable ever since the night he’d walked in on them after their hug. It was only made worse because Bellamy had visited her the next two nights so Clarke could help him with his arm, and both times, he stayed way longer than he needed to. He ended up deep in conversation with Clarke, and walked her back to the Slytherin common room when Madam Cartwig woke up and told her to get some sleep. Both times, Murphy had been awake, lounging across the couch, and his sick sense of investment in Bellamy’s discomfort was only amplified when he realised Bellamy was the one walking her to the door. 

The teasing had been going on for two weeks, and it didn’t show any sign of stopping. 

“So whaddya say, doc?” Murphy asked in mock seriousness. “Will he ever save a Quaffle again? Will he ever be able to run his hands through his hair again? Will he ever be able to put those fingers to good use on or _in–”_

“–yeah, thanks, Murphy, I think she gets it.” Bellamy ground out, glaring at him. 

To her credit, Clarke didn’t even seem to notice the exchange, she just passed him one of those lemon drop things he recognised from when he dislocated his leg. He popped it in his mouth and she waited a few seconds before she jerked her wand and his fingers realigned with an unsettling click. She checked to see if he could bend them properly, and then swished her wand over them once more.

“There you are,” she said, glancing up at him, “all better.”

“Thanks.” He said awkwardly. They were standing _so close_ together and his brain was doing its best impression of a basilisk victim and freezing up. 

His hand was still resting in hers, and her thumb brushed absently over his pointer finger. It was only Murphy’s sudden decision to start whistling a lazy tune that made them both step away. Bellamy started backing towards the door, grabbing Murphy’s collar and dragging him along. 

“Seriously, uh,” he shot her a weak smile, “thanks for the help, Princess.”

“No problem, Bellamy,” she sat down and lifted her book, not even looking at him when she said, “I can’t let you deprive anyone of those fingers, can I?”

Bellamy choked on air as the door swung shut behind them, and Murphy cackled with laughter all the way back to the Quidditch pitch. He must have blacked out, because she definitely didn’t just say those words to him in that order. Clarke Griffin did _not_ just flirt with him. Right?  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Their next potions lesson together, Bellamy wasn’t sure how to act. That wasn’t really anything new when it came to Clarke, but this time it was worse because he could feel both Miller and Murphy’s amused stares from their seats, not to mention their partners, Roan and Shaw, seemed to be sharing their smirks. 

Great.

Did _everyone_ know he had a thing for her?

“Are you okay?” She asked, in the middle of crushing some kind of root with the flat of her knife. He blinked down at her, confused, and she scrunched up her eyebrows in the way she always did when she was worried. “You seem tense.”

“No, I’m, uh… I’m fine.” _Way to be convincing, Blake._ He ignored the voice in his head and busied himself sprinkling the crushed roots into the cauldron. 

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out to emphasise how sceptical she was. 

“Do you, uh, do you want to come with us to watch the game on Saturday?” He said, and honestly he couldn’t for the life of him explain why his mouth had run away with him like that. “It’s Hufflepuff versus Slytherin and we were planning on watching Murphy get his ass kicked.”

She surveyed him for a minute. 

He fidgeted. “I mean, it’s not… I’ve never seen you at a Quidditch game, and I thought you might like to come with us instead of staying cooped up in the Hospital Wing.”

Clarke sighed and turned back to the cauldron. “I can’t this week, it’s not enough notice. Maybe some other time.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. 

“You’re staying here for the mid-semester break, right?” She asked casually. 

“It’s not like we have anywhere else to go,” he said cheerfully. 

“Do you want to…” She trailed off. “Actually, you know what, just forget about it.”

“No, what is it?”

She waved her wand over the mixture and it turned from grey to a glowing purple. “I just remembered, you’ll be working at The Three Broomsticks every day.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he frowned. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I…” She paused. “Monty must have said something about it. You know he and Jasper are making magic moonshine now?”

“Yeah, they wanna call it ‘Lunashine’ and Luna’s pissed, because she’s a straight arrow student and she doesn’t want her name associated with underage drinking.”

Clarke snorted. “Can’t say I blame her – that stuff is lethal.”

“You talking from experience, Princess?” He teased. 

She met his gaze with something like defiance. “And what if I am?”

“Wow, are you trying to tell me that the Princess knows how to party? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Who do you think Jasper and Monty come to when they want to test their concoctions out?”

Bellamy fell silent and tipped a vial of black liquid into the cauldron, and for a few minutes, neither of them spoke, they just read through the instructions a few more times to make sure they had it right. Miller and Roan were laughing about something across the room, and Monty and Raven were about two weeks ahead of everyone else, their potion practically finished and brewing in front of them. 

Clarke huffed. “What?”

Bellamy shrugged, “I don’t know, I just don’t think it’s safe to drink whatever insane concoction Jasper and Monty hand you, that’s all.”

“Lucky you’re not the one drinking it then,” she glared up at him and he realised that once again, he had managed to put his foot in his mouth. He really needed to stop doing that. Clarke crossed her arms defiantly. “Besides, do you really think I would just blindly drink something without taking precautions? I work in the hospital wing for god’s sake. I’m not an idiot.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I never said you were, I just… If something happens to you, who am I supposed to come to when I take a Bludger to the face again?”

She relaxed a little, a smile playing at her lips. “Oh, I get it. You’re _worried_ about me.”

“Me? Worried about _you?_ Never.” He grinned. 

“Nope, you can’t take it back now. Your secret’s out – Bellamy Blake actually _cares.”_

He shook his head, voice low enough that only she could hear him. “I’ve always cared, Princess.”

For the first time since he’d known her, Clarke Griffin seemed to be rendered speechless. She looked back at him, eyes wide, and seemed to only get her bearings as the bell rang. She hurriedly stuffed her books back in her bag and smiled ruefully at him as she left for Arithmancy.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Bellamy got up bright and early and started knocking on his teammates’ doors to make sure they had breakfast with both teams before the game. Despite the fierce competitive streak of nearly everyone at the school, the teams themselves all got on incredibly well when they weren’t on the pitch, and had meals together before every game. 

Bellamy collapsed down in the space between Raven and Emori and started shovelling hash browns in his mouth. 

“I don’t know why _you’re_ eating so much,” Emori commented, sipping her orange juice, “you’re not even playing.”

“I don’t think you understand how much Bellamy likes hash browns,” Gina said from across the table, smiling warmly. He sincerely returned the sentiment, grinning at her. Despite their relationship not working out, neither of them held any animosity towards each other; they were better off as friends anyway. 

He sipped at his coffee. “How about you, Gina, ready for the game?”

“Always, Blake, you know me,” she teased.

“Well, just in the interest of fair play, Otan on the Slytherin team is recovering from a cold, so as long as you make sure _he_ gets the Quaffle, you’ve got an advantage.”

“Dude!” Murphy snapped as he sat down. “You can’t just give your ex-girlfriend tips to beat us.”

“Why not?” 

He tilted his head at him, “Because I know all your secrets, Blake, and if you keeping spilling my team’s, I’ll make it _personal._ Oh, speaking of which, Clarke, get over here!”

He waved over Bellamy’s head and he stiffened, narrowing his eyes at him. Murphy just smirked and downed a glass of water as Clarke slid into the seat between him and Wells. 

“How’s the grind, Princess?” he asked, making Clarke roll her eyes. 

“Just great, Murphy, how’s the essay going?”

“What essay?”

“The one that’s due on Monday.”

“…You’re messing with me.”

She grinned, “Yes I am. Had you going though. Now please never say, ‘how’s the grind?’ ever again.”

“No promises.” 

“It’s Hufflepuff and Slytherin today, right?” She asked, earning nods from everyone at the table. “Well, I’ve got a best friend on both teams, so I can’t legally say who I’m rooting for,” she turned to Wells, “But I’m rooting for you.”

Murphy flicked a mushroom at her. “How dare you, I am sitting _right here.”_

“Yeah, but Wells didn’t have the audacity to say ‘how’s the grind?’ to me like a 90’s movie star.”

“Oh, that’s how it is.”

“Yep,” she winked. “Emori if you accidentally hit a Bludger in your boyfriend’s direction during the game I’ll buy you a new quill.”

“Deal,” Emori said, reaching across the table to high-five her. 

“Anything to avoid hitting Bellamy, at this point,” Raven snarked, earning an elbow to the ribs. She snickered. “What? It’s true, you’re constantly injuring yourself. Clarke told me she sees you in the Hospital Wing more than Sterling. _Sterling,_ Bellamy. That boy is so accident prone he should be permanently covered in bubble wrap and protection charms.”

He glared at Clarke, but there was no real heat in it, because all he could think was: _She talks about me with Raven?_

“Ten Sickles on Bellamy injuring himself today, even though he’s not playing,” Miller piped up. 

Bellamy threw a napkin at him. “Judas.”

“If I was Judas, I would be betraying you for 30 pieces of silver; I’m only betraying you for ten – you ain’t Jesus, Blake.”

“Put me down for 30,” Monty said. 

“I’ll throw in,” Shaw grinned. 

“Me too,” Murphy tossed his wallet down on the table, “whatever’s in there, plus food from the kitchen; one of the house elves owes me a favour.”

“How can a house elf possibly owe you a– you know what, forget I asked,” Wells shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry Blake, I’m not betting against you. Clarke would kill me.”

Clarke flushed and busied herself eating her pancakes. 

“Thanks, Wells, I appreciate that.” Bellamy levelled a steely gaze at everyone else. “As for the rest of you, I hope you all fall off your brooms.”

Everyone started arguing the way only old friends can, and eventually the conversation died down to a low buzz of excitement for the game. Raven kept flirting with Shaw across the table, and Bellamy suddenly realised he was surrounded by relationships. He brushed the thought aside and heaped another helping of hash browns onto his plate, making a face at Gina when she raised a teasing eyebrow at him. 

“Come on assholes, let’s go warm up,” Murphy said, and the entire Slytherin team grumbled and slowly got to their feet, following him out of the Great Hall and down towards the Quidditch Pitch. Not long after that, Wells stood as well, urging the Hufflepuff team out the door. 

Everyone else shuffled in a bit to close the gaps people had left, and Octavia ended up in the space Emori had vacated. She had painted her cheeks with black and yellow stripes. 

“No guesses who you’re rooting for then?” Harper teased, gesturing at her face. 

She shrugged, “What can I say, I love my boyfriend.”

“Cute!” Harper beamed, lifting her hand and twiddling her fingers, making yellow and black streamers fly out of it, spinning into the words 'GO MONTY!'. “Me too.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at Bellamy across the table and he tried to conceal his grin behind his coffee. Judging by the twinkle in her eye, he hadn’t succeeded, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. He mouthed _‘how much?’_ at her and she bit her lip. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, feigning indifference. 

“C’mon Clarke, how much money did you bet against me?”

“Five Galleons,” she admitted. 

He nearly choked on his drink.

She leaned in conspiratorially, “But don’t worry, I made Wells put five on you, so I figure we’re covered either way.”

“We?” He asked. 

She flushed, grabbing a croissant from a nearby plate, “I’ve got to get to work. Tell me how the game goes.”

And with that, she disappeared.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Bellamy broke his toe in the stands. 

Well, technically Miller fell on him and broke it, maybe even more than one, but technicalities meant nothing in the betting pool, so Bellamy hid his wince and pretended he was completely fine. 

_“Roan in possession of the Quaffle, Roan sends it to Anya, Anya passes it to Otan, but the Hufflepuff chasers are closing in! Otan looks practically delirious, he might actually drop the ball without interference from the other team– aaaaaaand there it goes."_

His foot was throbbing, but he was far too invested in the game to care. 

_“And Gina Martin somehow managed to anticipate Otan’s complete and total shambles of a play, really, a complete disaster–”_

_“–I’m warning you–”_

_“–she’s caught the Quaffle and she’s speeding towards the Slytherin goalposts. She shoots! And Luna misses it by a hair! Ten points to Hufflepuff!”_

A cheer went up, and yellow banners were lifted in the air in support. Harper shot more streamers from her hands and wolf-whistled at Monty as he flew by. Murphy flew past them, flicking Bellamy off with both hands before he sped away. Bellamy just snorted; it was his own fault for not benching Otan. 

_“Slytherin score again, and they’re catching up to Hufflepuff – this is shaping up to be a close game.”_

Raven cheered, waving a green banner in one hand and a yellow one in the other. Bellamy flicked his wand so that green and yellow sparks flew out of it. Neither of them ever took sides when they watched the games because they had too many friends on both sides. 

_“The Slytherin seeker seems to have completely disappeared into the clouds, while the Hufflepuff seeker is darting towards something down below. Which one of them has their eye on the Snitch? Well, considering that the Hufflepuff seeker is Riley Andrews, my guess is Slytherin–”_

_“–Diyoza, you can’t just pass judgement on students like that–”_

_“–and I was right, Adria has caught the Snitch, 150 points to Slytherin and that ends the game! That’s Hufflepuff at 200 points and Slytherin at 190! Despite catching the snitch, Slytherin lose by ten points! Hufflepuff wins!”_

_“Honestly, I don’t know why I bother.”_ Kane could be heard grumbling, right before the entire stadium erupted in applause. 

They all ran down onto the pitch to congratulate the teams as they landed, and Bellamy clapped everyone on the back, got tackled by Monty and Jasper, and pulled Wells into a huge bear hug. Wells laughed into his ear and was quickly dragged away by Gina, who kissed him passionately, prompting yet another cheer from everyone who saw it. 

Bellamy approached Murphy, clapping him conciliatorily on the back. “Awesome game.”

“Yeah,” he didn’t even sound that disappointed, “Yeah, it really was.”

“I’ve got a shift at The Three Broomsticks later, I’ll give you a discount on drinks if you’re coming in.”

“Loser’s Discount; god, you know me so well.” Murphy pretended to gush and he chuckled. They started walking back towards the castle and Murphy squinted at him, suspicious. “So… where is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Murphy trod on his foot and Bellamy grunted in pain, stumbling a little until he caught him around the arm. “Okay, Hospital Wing it is.”

“Please don’t tell Miller,” he groaned. 

“Fine,” Murphy rolled his eyes, “but only because I put my money on you making it through the game. Next time I won’t be so naïve.”

“Aw, Murphy, you bet on me?”

“Shut it, or I’ll tell Clarke you want to have her babies.”

Bellamy closed his mouth with an audible clack, and they walked nonchalantly through the corridors together until they reached the Hospital Wing, easing the door open. Clarke looked up to see them and pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath as she approached them. He couldn’t blame her. 

“What did you break?”

“Toes.”

“Great,” she deadpanned, “at least that’s an easy one.”

He sat down and pulled off his shoe, apologising.

“Don’t apologise,” she said, waving her wand. “Although I am starting to suspect that you secretly have a pain kink. Honestly, it’s like you’re doing it on purpose.”

Murphy grinned wolfishly, “That’s what I keep saying.”

Bellamy groaned as he put his shoe back on. “Shut up Murphy.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye, “Bellamy, I’m saying this as your friend: please stop coming in here. You’re going to send me to an early grave worrying about you.”

“If he doesn’t send himself to the grave first,” Murphy quipped. She smacked him upside the back of the head.

“Thanks Princess,” Bellamy said, and she helped him to his feet, not that he really needed it. He smiled at her and she squeezed his arm in response. He was pretty sure he felt the warmth from her gaze envelop him, all the way down to his newly-healed toes. 

He and Murphy waved goodbye and started back in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room, where the celebrations would surely be in full swing.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
They were barely halfway there when they bumped into Cage and Emerson walking in the opposite direction. 

Before they could react, Bellamy hexed them both into a wall. 

They retaliated by levitating a quidditch trophy onto his head.

Murphy just glared at him and pointed silently back in the direction of the hospital wing like a disapproving father, which was a first for Murphy. 

Bellamy shrugged. “Okay, that one might have been on purpose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore you all my lovelies, be safe, be well, be kind, and remember to take care of yourself before anyone else. 
> 
> Your kudos and comments make me happier than Grawp when Hermione comes to visit!


	6. Like A Firebolt From The Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets a chest injury, and we all know what that means - excessive shirtlessness and intense sexual tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter WAY longer than it needs to be???
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Do I have any regrets???
> 
> No. 
> 
> Enjoy this angstfest guys!

Over the next few weeks, Bellamy and Clarke spent a lot of time together, _outside_ the Hospital Wing. Diyoza’s essay for Defence Against the Dark Arts was a killer, and Indra’s transfiguration assessment was coming up, so they decided that if they were Potions partners, they may as well help each other with everything else.

They met up at the library a lot, occasionally joined by Wells or Murphy or Raven, but mostly alone. They sat, hunched over their books in a dark corner lit only by candles _(“Seriously, have wizards not heard of LED lights?”)_ and compared notes.

They sat together at breakfast, and lunch, and when Clarke worked late at the Hospital Wing, Bellamy brought her plates of food from the house elves, who all seemed eager to assist. He had a feeling she had offered to help them more than once, judging by how they lit up when they heard who the leftovers were for.

Their friends seemed to adjust to the new normal like it was nothing, like they’d been waiting for it to happen for years. Hell, maybe they had.

Even Murphy had stopped his incessant teasing once the novelty wore off. Once he realised that Bellamy’s complete and total infatuation with Clarke wasn’t just a passing fancy – which he had known for a long time, but it’s one thing to know it and another entirely to accept it – he pulled him aside to give him The Talk… at six in the morning… when they were the only two people at the Gryffindor table… while Bellamy was trying to drink enough coffee to feel human again.

Murphy slid in next to him, plate of pancakes in hand, and waved a fork in his direction. “Look, you know I’m not one for the mushy shit.”

“I weep for your girlfriend.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, genuinely, do you talk like this to Emori–”

“Bellamy, for once in my life I am trying to be serious with you.” He snapped, and Bellamy closed his mouth. He gestured for him to continue and Murphy threw his gaze up to the ceiling, like he was steeling himself. “Listen to me, Bellamy Blake, I know you’re in love with Clarke. And I’m pretty sure that she’s in love with you too. So as her best friend and confidant–”

“–I thought that was Wells–”

“–I’ll kill you.”

He grimaced, because from anyone else that threat might seem empty, but with Murphy, well. “Okay, sorry, please continue.”

“So as her best friend _and confidant,_ I’m here to give you the speech. This is me, telling you, very explicitly, not to hurt her. She’s been through a lot and she’s lost more than most, and she deserves the best and if you’re not ready to give that to her then don’t bother. Because if you hurt her, Bellamy, I _will_ murder you, and no-one will find the body.”

“Okay.”

He looked taken aback, like he was genuinely surprised by Bellamy’s acquiescence. “Okay?”

 _“Okay._ Seriously, Murphy. The last thing I wanna do is hurt her.”

“Good.” He slumped. “And just so you know, I gave her the same talk this morning. She was a lot less cool about it than you. She kept ranting about being able to make her own choices, and then went on a long tangent about how hurting you would be moronic because you’d just end up back with her asking to be fixed anyway, and it was… it was a lot.”

Bellamy snorted.

“But really, Blake,” Murphy gripped his shoulder, “you serious about this? About her?”

He put his coffee down, glancing towards the door just in time to see the woman herself stride in. The second she saw the two of them sitting together, she waved and sidestepped the Slytherin table in favour of walking towards them. Her blonde hair was catching the light and there was a bright smile on her face that only got wider the closer she got.

“Yeah, Murphy,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “I am.”

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
It got to the point where, when Bellamy wasn’t at Quidditch training, the easiest place to find him was wherever Clarke was.

They received top marks in potions, and continued sitting with each other even after the pairs system was dissolved, much to Miller’s feigned annoyance. He always grumbled whenever Clarke sat down on Bellamy’s other side and interrupted their conversation, but Bellamy knew he was secretly overjoyed when Clarke was around. She got along with him well, uncannily so, considering it was _Miller_ , and it seemed that she was fast becoming his closest friend, bar one of course.

The mid-semester break came and went, and Bellamy worked long shifts every day down in Hogsmead, trudging up and down the winding paths to get there. Octavia ended up going to Lincoln’s place over the week to meet his parents, so Bellamy was completely alone at Hogwarts for the first time since Third Year, when his bright eyed sister had first arrived.

Except that he wasn’t.

Because every time he felt the absence of his sister creeping up his spine, Clarke would find him. It was almost magic, the way she seemed to sense when he needed someone. At the end of a particularly long shift, she turned up at The Three Broomsticks with a thermos of hot chocolate and a smile.

One afternoon when he was wandering aimlessly around the Great Lake, she found him and convinced him to have a competition skipping rocks, until the Giant Squid emerged from the depths and started pelting them back.

She told him about her dad, and he opened up about his mother, and pretty soon she was the person he went to first: for everything. He was the same for her. He was the first person she told when she got her Arithmancy marks back, the first person she ran to when she was planning something crazy, the first person she cried to when her mother sent her a heartfelt owl trying to reconcile with her, asking if she could visit one weekend.

He didn’t know how it happened, but before he had time to catch up, Clarke was his best friend.

It was more than a little disconcerting, but he refused to question it. He didn’t want to shatter whatever dream he was living in, and whenever she smiled at him over the breakfast table, he felt himself fall just a little more.

Yet still, for some reason, she refused to come to Quidditch games, constantly claiming shifts in the Hospital Wing as her excuse, even when he knew she wasn’t busy.

But he wasn’t questioning it, not yet at least.

Because Clarke Griffin was his _person._

_And he was hers._

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
Their rematch against Hufflepuff was going pretty well so far. They were up 20 points and Harper was in possession of the Quaffle.

She passed it to Miller, who ducked to dodge a Bludger sent his way by Monty. Miller attempted to pass it to Bellamy, but it was intercepted by Lincoln. He launched it at Ilian, who immediately had to swerve out of the way of the two Bludgers Octavia sent in his direction. He threw the Quaffle to Gina, who tossed it back to Lincoln, and it eventually ended up back with Ilian just as a Bludger went sailing towards his head. He dropped twenty feet just to avoid it.

Which unfortunately sent him right into the path of the next one Octavia sent. It caught the end of his broom and he went spinning out.

_“The Bludgers are really flying at Ilian today; it's good to know that boy actually has the ability to attract anything considering the level of apathy he plays with–”_

_“Professor Diyoza!”_

_“Right, sorry - in a frankly shocking twist, Bludgers have hit the slowest flyer on the Hufflepuff tea–”_

_“DIYOZA!”_

Bellamy flew towards Octavia, “Hey, what’s going on? You got a problem with Ilian?”

Monroe, who was hovering above them, scoffed. “She’s just trying to avoid hitting her boyfriend.”

Octavia made to fly up angrily, but Bellamy caught her robes and dragged her back to his height. He levelled a stern look at her. “Maybe try aiming for other members of the team. We wouldn’t want anyone to make any assumptions, right?”

She gritted her teeth. “Fine.”

“Good.” He sighed, relieved, moving up to Monroe. “And you. Do you really think it’s a good idea to provoke Octavia when there’s a large stick in her hand?”

Monroe swallowed.

“Didn’t think so.” He shook his head. “You’re supposed to _work together_. Maybe try it out one day?”

Then they were off again – Lincoln passed to Gina who passed back to Lincoln who passed to Ilian, and Monroe made sure to send a few shots in Lincoln’s direction, much to Octavia’s obvious chagrin. Bellamy intercepted the Quaffle before they got too far down the pitch, immediately streaking back towards their goal, launching it at Harper when he got close (he might be the captain, but he wasn't too proud to admit that she was a better shooter than him).

She took the shot.

_“Ten points to Gryffindor! An excellent goal from Harper McIntyre, and her boyfriend, Hufflepuff beater Monty Green looks over the moon for her. Honestly if these two teams had any more couples, it would be a soap opera waiting to happen. Harper versus Monty, Octavia versus Lincoln, and of course Bellamy Blake famously dated Gina in Fifth Year and she has since moved on with Wells Jaha, her team captain. Although I’m not sure Blake minds too much, because rumour has it he’s had a thing for Abby Griffin’s daughter since Third Year–”_

_“For god’s sake Diyoza, Miller has the Quaffle!”_

_“Yeah, but more importantly, does Clarke like Bellamy back, or is he–”_

Kane must’ve wrestled her wand away from her, because the next voice was his entirely his own, _“Miller passes to Harper who narrowly avoids a Bludger from Jasper Jordan.”_

For once, Bellamy was thankful to Kane for stopping Diyoza, because hearing her talk about him and Clarke in front of the whole school was enough to make him want to get knocked out by the nearest Beater. Which happened to be his sister, so there was every possibility he could die.

He spotted Madi flying somewhere over the Ravenclaw spectators, circling something at top speed, and he caught the Quaffle from Harper, speeding towards the goalposts.

That was the last thing he knew before everything went black.

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
When he came to, he didn’t know where he was and everything hurt.

He moaned, trying to lift his arm, but there was something heavy holding his hand down, and he realised that it was someone else’s fingers wrapped around his own. They squeezed his, and then he felt something come up to stroke his hair. He knew who it was before he cracked his eyes open, but it was still a welcome sight to come face to face with Clarke Griffin’s relieved smile.

“Princess,” he croaked out, aiming for nonchalance. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Her eyes filled with tears and in his delirious state, he thought they looked like mystical lakes; swirling and glowing. She sobbed, pressing her cheek against his shoulder to compose herself.

“You idiot, you fucking idiot,” she muttered into his skin. “Do you have any idea how stupid you are?”

“I’m getting an idea,” he said, as he looked around and realised that most of his friends and teammates were standing around his bed as well. Octavia was on his other side, her arms crossed tightly over herself as she glared at him, and Raven, Jasper, Monty and Harper were hovering nervously behind her. Lincoln was sitting next to her, his hand on her knee, and Miller and Murphy were standing at the foot of his bed. Murphy looked more serious than he’d ever seen him. On Murphy’s left was Diyoza, then Shaw, and in between Shaw and Clarke was Madi, sniffling quietly into her sleeve.

He realised he was in a private room, rather than the main hall of the Hospital Wing, which was never indicative of anything good.

He blinked blearily, trying to clear the fog from his head. “What happened? Why are you all looking at me like someone died?”

Clarke straightened, wiping her tears away with her free hand. “Bellamy–”

“–Because _you_ almost died, you piece of shit!” Octavia snapped, half-rising to her feet. “That’s what happens when you hit the stands at 80 miles an hour–”

Lincoln wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her back, and Clarke looked around at them all, as if suddenly realising how overwhelming everything must be for him, and cleared her throat loudly.

“I need to examine him and he probably needs space. Could you all just, um,” she pressed a palm against her forehead, clearly trying to pull her thoughts together. “Just wait downstairs? Please?”

When no-one made any move to leave, Diyoza took charge, herding them all out like cattle until Clarke and Bellamy were the only ones in the small room.

“This is… this is really bad, isn’t it?” He asked.

She laughed, watery and sad sounding, but it was there. Her fingers ended up back in his hair again. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Last thing I knew, I was flying towards the goalposts. I’m guessing I didn’t score.”

“You did, actually. Gryffindor won – Madi caught the Snitch.” she sighed. “And then a Manticore flew onto the pitch.”

He almost did a double take, but his head was aching, so instead he just stayed still and waited for her to continue.

“Apparently one of the second years had found it on holiday, and thought it would be a clever idea to bring it with her to school, raise it under the floorboards. Because that always turns out _great.”_   She sounded angry and upset, her voice harsh with pent-up worry, which was a stark contrast to the gentle way her thumb brushed against his temple. “It escaped, went roaming around the grounds, and followed the noise to the stadium. You managed to get everyone out of the sky and onto the ground so they could run, but Madi was… Madi was too high up, and the Manticore was gaining on her. So _you,_ you idiot, flew up to distract it.”

He groaned. “Yeah, that does sound like something I would do.”

“You managed to keep its attention for long enough for Madi to get away, and for most people to start running or apparating back to the castle, and then… Then it threw you aside and you hit… you hit the stands and fell fifty feet.” She was crying again. “Kane managed to magic something for you to land on while Diyoza and Indra fought it off, but you were… Bellamy it was _so bad.”_

“Okay, hey, I’m okay,” he said, reaching his free hand up to cup her cheek, wiping the tears away.

She shook her head vehemently. “But you almost _weren’t_ Bellamy! You’ve been unconscious for three days, we’ve all been camping out here just hoping that you actually woke up. Madi’s been a wreck because she got it in her head that it was _her fault,_ Murphy hexed Dante Wallace through a window when he tried to tell him to go back to class and Octavia’s been furious the whole time.”

“But none of them were hurt, right?” He asked urgently. “They’re all okay?”

She scoffed. “They’re all fine. Aren’t you listening to me, Bellamy? You almost _died!”_

He couldn’t help but smile up at her, which only served to irritate her more.

“Don’t you look at me like that, Bellamy Blake, I mean it – you scared the hell out of me, out of everyone! Why are you smiling?”

“Because I didn’t die.” He said simply. “Because you were worried about me. The big, bad, Slytherin Head Girl who can take on anything and terrify first years with a look, was scared for me. Clarke Griffin _cares.”_

“You know I’ve always cared, Bellamy.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to distract you here. Is it working?” He asked hopefully. She leaned back down to carefully rest her head on his shoulder again.

“No.” She whispered.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

“I know.” Her lips brushed against his skin when she spoke. “Just please don’t do this again, okay? I’m not sure I could survive going through that. I lost the most important person in my life once, and I’m not doing it again, Bellamy, not ever.”

“I’m the most important person in your life?”

She pinched his knuckle.

“Right, yes, sorry; not the point you were making.”

She giggled as she sat back, shaking her head like she was disappointed in him. He loved that look – like she was exasperated with herself for liking him so much – and he wanted to see it all the time. Next time he was going to aim for it to be less tearstained.

She pulled his blanket aside and tugged his shirt up a little, eyes raking over his chest. She pressed her lips together as she poked at his ribs.

“Fuck.” He said, in an attempt to avoid groaning again. It didn’t really work, the word turning into more of an elongated vowel punctuated with a few stuttering exhales than anything else.

“Okay.” She said, her clinical voice returning. “Can you sit up?”

“I can give it my best shot.”

She let go of his hand so he could use his fists to push himself up on the pillows, propping himself at the best angle for her to check him over. It hurt, and he had to focus to stop himself from tensing up – which was honestly worse, because every muscle in his body felt like it had been clubbed – but she was quick and efficient. She poked and prodded him, being cautious not to do it to hard, and when she was finished, she sighed in relief.

“What’s the damage, doc?” He asked.

“You’ll live,” she said, voice thick with emotion. She sat back down in the seat she’d been living in for three days and it was like every ounce of energy went out of her. She looked exhausted. He stared at her for a long moment, completely captivated by her lips and her cheeks and her eyes. Later, he could try and blame that on the blow to the head. She sniffled, not looking at him when she spoke. “Madam Cartwig kicked me out. When you came in here, it was just me, and I… I didn’t know what to do. I sent Miller to go wake her up because I couldn’t leave you, and when she got here, she kicked everyone out, even me. The amount of magic she used to fix your head, your lungs, your legs, your ribs…”

“Wow. That’s a lot of me.”

“That’s not even half of it, Bellamy.” Her eyelashes fluttered, holding back a fresh wave of tears. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“Sorry, next time I’ll just let Madi get eaten.” He deadpanned.

“I hate you.” She said.

"I can live with that."

"Just as long as you're alive, okay?" She said with a half-smile.

Diyoza poked her head around the door. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah, everyone can probably come back in now." Clarke said, before she frowned over at him. "If that's okay with you?"

"Of course, Princess."

Diyoza just raised an eyebrow at them before she swung the door wide and everyone started re-entering the room and taking seats in the chairs they must have leapt out of when he woke up. There were more of them than he realised - his entire team was there, not to mention most of the Hufflepuff team, and even Roan was there, jerking his chin at him in camaraderie as he leaned against the wall. Madi sat down next to Clarke again, and she didn’t even want to look at him, still just staring down at her hands.

He reached out to pat her shoulder, just about managing to conceal his wince. “It’s okay, kiddo. I’m okay.”

“But you–”

“–No buts. I’m okay. And even if I wasn’t, none of this is your fault, alright?” He said, certainty bolstering his words. She nodded weakly, and he relaxed back against the pillows, feigning a casual demeanour despite the twinge it caused in his chest. “So… how are the rest of you doing?”

Octavia looked like she was about to start yelling again, but Miller cut in before she could. “Oh just _great,_ Blake, thanks for asking. How’s life as a human ragdoll treating you so far?”

Raven smacked him in the arm, but Murphy snorted, and even Octavia cracked a smile.

“I’ve been better.”

“No shit.” Diyoza said.

"You really gave us all a scare there, Blake." Roan said. "You're really trying to live up to that Gryffindor Quidditch Captain swagger, huh?"

"Don't forget, he's also Head Boy. So he's really wearing that Gryffindor badge of stupidity with pride," Emori snarked. 

Octavia shrugged. "No, he's always been stupid, long before he was Captain, or Head Boy." 

"I see that the time of feeling bad for me is over." Bellamy said lightly.

"Yeah, well, we wasted it on the three days you were unconscious." 

The room feel silent, sobered by the reminder of how close he'd come to not being able to have this conversation, until Monty and Jasper started talking about how next time they visited they would sneak in some Sun-shine  _("We're still workshopping the name, okay?")_ and everyone started discussing what their sips tasted like. Even Diyoza joined in, telling them they better save some for her next time so she could discover if it would taste like her favourite tequila or just a good cup of coffee. 

Eventually, however the bubble had to burst, and that happened when Madam Cartwig entered, “Ah, excellent, you’re awake. And visiting hours are _over._ I let it slide when he was unconscious, but now I need all of you to go back to your own beds and get some much-needed _rest._ I don’t need any of the rest of you in here with exhaustion. Go sleep in your own beds. Mr Blake will still be here when you wake up.”

Everyone started protesting loudly, until Bellamy held up a hand.

“Look, not that I don’t appreciate you all staying here for three days and hoping that I didn’t die, but she’s right. I’d feel much worse knowing that one of you ended up in the Hospital Wing because of me being indisposed. Besides, judging from what Clarke said, I’m going to be stuck here for at least another few days–”

“–a week–”

“–semantics. So there’s no point in you all sleeping here every night. For one thing, this room it’s tiny, I honestly don’t know how it fit you all.”

Octavia set her jaw. “Yeah, well, I’m not leaving.”

Madam Cartwig tutted. “Miss Blake may stay. As may Miss Griffin. Everyone else must return to your bedchambers. Immediately.”

They all started complaining as they begrudgingly got to their feet and started filing out, all of them – gently – clapping Bellamy on the shoulder as they did. Eventually, the room was silent, and he felt himself drifting off again. Clarke shuffled her chair as close to the bed as the space would allow, and then drew her knees up to her chest, stretching her hand out until her fingers were laced with his.

Octavia eyed them, but she didn’t say a word. She just leaned back in her own chair, and when she eventually spoke, her voice was still hard and unforgiving, but he knew her well enough to know that it was just a front. “You’re not allowed to leave me, Bell. Not now, not ever.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ll do my best not to.”

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
Recovering was a miserable process. Because of the myriad of injuries he had, they had to be healed one at a time, in a very specific order so as not to completely screw with his bodily functions.

Life-threatening injuries took precedent, followed by breaks and functional injuries, and then the more localised ones, like bruising and fatigue.

So first had been his head, which had healed while he was unconscious, along with his punctured lung. The hole in his lung had been caused by multiple broken ribs, which they set, _but_ the bruising to the muscles around it was still there, because they had to fix his broken left leg and his insanely fractured right arm first. It hurt to move, and breathe, and speak, but he was just thankful he wasn’t dead.

His memory came back in bits and flashes, but he saw enough to know that he'd really rather not remember the rest.

The hardest part was the examinations. The first few were done by Madam Cartwig, while Clarke chewed her lip anxiously in the corner of the room, but after that it was left in the capable hands of his best friend, and... well... he was so, completely, frustratingly, unbelievably fucked. Every time she helped him take his shirt off, or let her eyes rake down his chest, clinical and yet still somehow lighting a fire in his gut, or when her fingertips danced across his ribs or across his pecs, all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her. Once, her nail clipped his nipple and he flinched, which meant he then had to spend ten minutes reassuring her that he was _not_ in pain, while also trying not to reveal how insanely turned on he was.

Times were tough, okay?

His friends all came to visit, sullenly limited to a couple at a time (he was pretty sure that Madam Cartwig was beating them away with a broomstick at this point, which was ironic) but Clarke was always there.

She convinced the house elves to bring their food up to them, so she never had to leave the room, and she asked all the professors for time off classes, which they agreed to. It was pretty impossible to say no to Clarke when she was on the warpath.

And slowly but surely, he was getting better.

On the fifth afternoon, while she was sleeping on the mattress she’d magicked for herself on the floor, Wells and Murphy came to visit. An odd pair, admittedly, until they both glanced at the slumbering figure, and then he got it.

“I’ve tried to get her to go back to her room,” Bellamy said. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“That’s not what this is about.” Wells said.

“Listen, Blake, you promised me you wouldn’t hurt her.” Murphy rolled up his sleeves menacingly. “I promised murder.”

“I’m pretty sure I almost took care of that myself.”

“Too soon, dick,” Murphy barked.

“Remember when we talked about using the nice words?” Wells asked pointedly.

Murphy shook out his arms. “Okay, fine. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough, but when I said not to hurt Clarke, I meant _any_ kind of hurt. Almost getting yourself killed? It counts. You didn’t see her because you were busy having conversations with the grim reaper, but Clarke was a _mess,_ Bellamy.”

“I know.”

“So if you could stop injuring yourself now, that’d be great, because I’m not cleaning up the mess you leave behind when you die.” His eyes glazed over with something, and he coughed, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Not just for Clarke, either. When I thought... Listen, Blake, I plan to outlive everyone on the planet - I am a cockroach after all - but not you, okay? You're not allowed to leave us, not like that."

Wells stepped forward. “You’re a good guy, Bellamy Blake, and she _cares_ about you. _So much._ You’re the only person that Clarke has ever felt the need to get my approval for – not that she needs it – because she thinks you’re going to be in her life for a long time coming. Please don’t prove her wrong.”

“I won’t.” He said, and when he looked at her, more relaxed in sleep than she ever appeared when awake, he hoped that they knew he meant it.

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
On the eighth day, he was finally supposed to be getting discharged, after one final check-up.

Clarke made him stand up, letting him lean against the bed as he lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He didn’t fail to notice the way her eyes tracked his arms, or the nervousness in her eyes as she stepped into his space.

He’d forgotten how much taller than her he was, having been practically bedridden for over a week, and he fought the urge to bury his face in her hair.

Her hands roamed over his chest, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of every place she touched, skin buzzing with electricity. Her palm skimmed over his abdomen and he tensed.

She paused. “You good?”

“Yep.” He said, clenching his jaw. “Fine.”

“Am I hurting you?” She asked, stepping back, and before he had a chance to stop himself, he caught her fingers before she moved too far.

“No.” He murmured. “Not hurting me.”

“So then…”

“Just– you’re not hurting me, Princess.” He said, slowly guiding her hands back to his chest.

She swallowed hard at the contact, and he was sure she must have known how fast his heart was thumping against his ribs. Her fingers started stroking down the grooves of his muscles and his breath stuck in his throat. She leaned closer, until her lips landed on his clavicle, warm and soft and too much like a dream, and his eyes fell closed. He never wanted this moment to end. She nosed at the crook of his neck before she leaned back and if his injuries didn't kill him, Clarke Griffin was going to be the goddamn death of him.

Her hands were splayed across his stomach, and when he opened his eyes, she was staring nervously as if to gauge his reaction, and his hand came up to brush the hair from her face.

“I really am sorry, Princess.” He whispered. “I know I scared you. I just… I had to do something.”

“It’s okay,” she said, leaning into his touch. “You wouldn’t be the guy you are if you hadn’t.”

His thumb skimmed her cheek. “Still. I don’t like upsetting you.”

She was so close to him, all he had to do was tilt his head down a few inches and he’d be kissing her. She looked like she wanted him to, eyes darting to his lips and her hands sliding up his chest until they were almost at his neck, nails scraping lightly at his skin as she went. She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for him to make the first move, and he was going to, _god, he was going to_ , and then–

“I take it this is Mr Blake?” A voice said from the doorway, and Clarke jumped half out of her skin, stepping back so fast she almost fell over. Bellamy’s arm shot out to catch her, pulling her back to his chest, where she quickly regained her footing and turned around, a brighter blush than he’d ever seen on her rising up her neck.

“Uh, hi Mom,” she stammered.

Bellamy suddenly became very aware that Clarke’s mother had just walked in on him, shirtless, about to kiss her daughter, and he silently prayed for another dangerous creature to attack, or some kind of life-threatening injury. At least then he could pretend that he wasn’t standing with his nipples out while the Minister for Magic tapped her foot disapprovingly. 

Abby folded her arms. “You’re the kid who flew directly at a Manticore just to save a second-year student?”

“Yes ma’am.” He said stiffly.

“That was very stupid of you. Brave, obviously, but alarmingly stupid.” She tilted her head and the ghost of a smile appeared in her cheeks. “I can see why she likes you.”

Clarke stepped a little further in front, as if to shield him from her mother’s gaze, which was sweet. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to be coming down this weekend, remember? We were going to take a trip into Hogsmeade and catch up.”

She slumped, involuntarily leaning back against Bellamy, and he realised that he still had his arm around her waist. Well, if she didn’t want him to move it, there was no way in hell he was letting go of her.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

“Yeah, I guessed,” Abby said, amused. “It’s been an eventful week, I suppose. Well, Bellamy, you are perfectly welcome to come with us.”

He froze up, waiting for Clarke to argue against the idea, but instead, she looked up at him with hopeful eyes, and he melted.

“Of course, Minister.”

“Call me Abby,” she smiled. “Well, Clarke I can see that you’re busy, so I’ll come back later. I believe I will head down to Marcus’s office, catch up with him. Let you finish, ah, examining Mr Blake.”

With that, she disappeared, and Clarke let her head drop forward, groaning. He chuckled, pressing his forehead against the back of her neck as he hugged her properly from behind. Eventually, of course, he had to release her, and he did so reluctantly, so she could go through his chart and actually tick him off as healed.

She bent down to pick up his shirt from the floor. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

“Look at it this way; it could have been worse.” He offered.

She made a face at him. _“How?”_

He winked. “You could have had _your_ shirt off.”

She tossed his shirt at his face and he laughed. He probably deserved that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I SUCK, but hear me out................. I have no excuses I'm just evil. 
> 
> Your comments make me happier than chocolate after a dementor encounter!!!


	7. Chase The Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy feels weird around Clarke after they almost kiss.
> 
> Until he gets hit in the face again.

They hadn’t talked about it.

In fact, in the entire weekend they spent together, taking Abby around Hogsmeade and eventually saying goodbye to her and hunkering down in the library, they didn’t mention it once.

Abby clearly wanted to ask, but every time she got that look on her face, Clarke would steer the conversation to other things.

Then they started going back to classes again, and before long it had reached the point where Bellamy felt like he couldn’t bring it up anymore, in case it got weird. Things between them felt awkward, stilted, in a way they hadn’t before – even when they hated each other, things were never exactly _uncomfortable._

But now she was giving him space, not touching him as much, averting her eyes when he tried to catch her gaze. She was backing away and he hated it.

“What am I supposed to say? _‘I’m really sorry that the Minister for Magic, who also happens to be your mother, interrupted us before I could kiss you, oh and also would you like to kiss me?’”_   Bellamy asked.

Monty and Jasper groaned and Miller looked like he wanted to run headfirst into a wall.

“YES!” Octavia snapped. “That’s _exactly_ what you say!”

He couldn’t blame them for being annoyed. He’d been agonising over it for days and he was still no closer to making any kind of move. In any direction. They were getting frustrated with his indecision. Hell, _he_ was getting frustrated with his indecision. And now they were sitting together in the library while Clarke was in Divination, just going over everything again.

“I hate this,” he scrubbed his hands down his face. “Things are suddenly really… we’re just not the same anymore and it’s getting to me. I feel like it should be easier, but it’s _Clarke,_ and I _love her_ and I’m–”

“–what did you just say?”

He eyed his sister. “I feel like this should be easier.”

“No, dick, the bit about loving her. You’re in love with Clarke?”

“Jesus, O, you hadn’t figured that out yet?”

All of his friends just stared back at him in shock, until finally, Monty shrugged. “Well, yeah, _we_ figured it out. But we figured that you would be in deep, deep, deep denial over it.”

They all nodded in agreement and Bellamy slumped in his seat. 

“I haven’t been in denial since sometime after I broke up with Gina.” He admitted.

Jasper whistled. “Wow. That’s a while ago.”

“Yep.” He sighed. “I mean, I don’t think I was in love with her, but I’d long since stopped trying to tell myself that I hated her. And then, this year… she’s my best friend. She’s the best thing I’ve got going for me, and if she doesn’t feel the same way, or if we try it and things don’t work… I can’t lose my best friend, I just can’t.”

“Okay.” Miller said. “I see your dilemma.”

“I’ve been complaining about this for _days_ and you’re just _now_ seeing my dilemma?” He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a whole new ballgame if you’re in love with her. That’s different to just Unsure-Doesn’t-Know-How-To-Feel-About-Nearly-Kissing-Clarke-Bellamy. This is, I’m-Definitely-In-Love-With-Clarke-Bellamy. This is big. You’re _all in.”_

He nodded.

“Okay, so, in that case, what do we think he should do?” Jasper asked, looking around at them all.

Everyone just stared back blankly, faces getting steadily more sheepish until Bellamy just threw up his hands in exasperation. He tossed his books into his bag and slung it over his shoulder; he had to meet Clarke after class.

“Real helpful, guys, thanks.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Their match against Slytherin was the last one left before the semi-final, and he had been looking forward to it ever since he’d been discharged from the Hospital Wing.

He was training hard, but not overdoing it (because if he did, Clarke would kill him) and by the time the big day arrived, he was pretty confident that they could actually win.

Bellamy and Murphy traded some light trash talk over breakfast, but neither of them was willing to say anything too bad, not after the last game. Murphy in particular kept backing off, even when there were easy shots. He still yelled, “Don’t fight any Chimeras this match!” after him as he led his team out of the Great Hall though, so Bellamy considered that things were probably back to normal by now.

With everyone except Clarke, apparently.

He invited her to the game, but she claimed she had another shift, and that she couldn’t get out of it. However, when he bumped into Madam Cartwig after dinner one night, and decided to plead her case, she said that Clarke had _asked_ to work that shift.

And like the brave Gryffindor he was, he didn’t confront her about it.

He just kept acting like things were fine, which only made him feel like things were less fine than ever and _he’s really bad at feelings, okay?_ He shook his head at himself every time Clarke smiled at him and his heart did backflips, or when she asked him if he was free and he always was, for her.

He was painfully aware of how pathetic he was being, but he just couldn’t seem to get over the hurdle of just _talking to her about everything._ Speaking was something he was supposed to be good at, and yet the words died in his mouth at every turn.

So, naturally, he started a fight after the match.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
They lost to Slytherin, which somewhat strangely, meant that if Ravenclaw lost their next game, that they’d be up against Slytherin for the House Cup Match. They’d beaten out everyone else. Which meant that if Slytherin won their game against Ravenclaw in three weeks, Gryffindor basically be handed a rematch on a golden platter in the final match of the season.

Either way, it would be a fun match, whether he was cheering for Raven from the side-lines or personally beating Murphy, and with Diyoza’s commentary, it was always a good vibe anyway.

Which is why he was beaming at his team despite their loss, and they were all cheering back, clapping each other on the shoulders and shaking the hands of the Slytherin team. Murphy hooked him round the neck for a very Murphy-like hug, and Roan just chuckled to himself.

Even Cage’s appearance in the crowd couldn’t phase him, he was in such a good mood. He packed all the balls back into the big red case and asked Miller if he’d help him carry it back to the storeroom, and they each bent down to grab a handle.

And then Emerson decided to ruin it.

“Aw, pity you lost Blake. Maybe your team would’ve done better with a better captain. Next time you should probably make sure the Manticore finishes the job!”

Bellamy clenched his fists, but he was about to take a deep breath and walk it off, when something came flying out of nowhere and tackled Carl Emerson to the dirt. The crowds were mostly dispersed by that point, so it was pretty easy to see who’d done it.

“Get off me, bitch!” Emerson yelled.

Octavia just punched him in the throat. “What are you saying about my brother, Emerson? Say it again, I dare you!”

Bellamy and Shaw shared a look, and then they both darted forward and grabbed an elbow each, dragging Octavia off him. She struggled against them until she realised who it was, and then she relaxed. They still didn’t let her go though.

“It’s fine, O, forget it. He’s not worth it anyway.” Shaw said, very sensibly.

Octavia just nodded begrudgingly, and they released her so that she could walk with them back towards the castle. Miller brought up the rear, and the remainders on the Slytherin team were somewhere just ahead of them. The pitch was practically empty. Emerson was pushing himself to his feet, and Cage had jogged over to help him up, but even he didn’t seem interested in continuing the fight, because he just shot them a dirty look, not saying a word.

Then, just as they were turning away, Emerson made a grave mistake; “Why don’t you just keep your psycho sister on a leash?!”

Miller slumped, muttering, “Well, now you’ve done it.”

“My what?!” Bellamy yelled, storming forward to shove him back. “My _what?!”_

“You heard me, Blake! Keep that crazy bitch on–”

Bellamy decked him.

Emerson’s wand was suddenly in his hand, and he waved it sharply, yelling something loud. Bellamy dodged it, pulling his own wand from his robes, but before he had a chance to use it, Cage sent a hex towards Octavia, who had tried to step in.

He saw it seconds before it happened, and he jumped forward, shoving her aside and taking the full brunt of the curse himself. It was something hard, like a shockwave, and he sailed backwards, landing roughly on the grass.

His head was spinning, but he stumbled back to his feet anyway. Which was when he realised that there was a full brawl happening. Robes in every house colour were flying towards the small group of Slytherins that had gathered to defend Emerson.

Murphy had somehow managed to knab a beater’s stick from somewhere, and he was advancing on Cage with a sick grin on his face. Octavia, Harper and Emori were facing off against Ontari and her gang of goons, and Monty and Jasper quickly joined them. Raven was pointing her wand at a Third Year student, who was dangling upside-down, ten feet in the air, and apologising profusely. Miller was back to back with Shaw, fending off five guys, one of whom turned to run and was tripped over by Lincoln, who towered over him menacingly enough that he immediately surrendered. Even Wells and Roan were involved, just hovering in front of him; putting themselves between Bellamy and the fight.

Emerson shoved one of his friends in front of them, distracting Roan enough that he could get past him and then hexed Wells into Raven. Both of them tumbled to the ground, and the guy she’d been levitating fell with them, only saved from hitting the ground by Harper’s quick flick of her wand in his direction.

Then, Emerson jerked his wand, hard, towards Bellamy, and the heavy red Quidditch case flew up and caught him right in the face.

“Well, isn’t this a party!” Diyoza’s voice suddenly boomed through the air, and everybody froze.

“Sorry, Professor,” Cage said viciously, sporting more than a few red marks on his arms that would surely become terrifying bruises. “They started it.”

Diyoza snorted. “Mr Wallace, are you under the impression that I don’t have eyes?”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

“I am not your dear old daddy, Cage,” she said, eyes like fire as she stared down at him. “And you cannot get away with treating your fellow students like shit just because he works here. You alright, Blake?”

Bellamy became aware of the blood tricking down the side of his face and from his nose, and he shrugged. “Never better, Professor.”

She gave him a look which he was coming to realise meant that she liked him, and nodded.

“You, you and you,” she pointed at Cage, Emerson and Ontari, “you’re all coming with me. We’re going to have a nice chat in Kane’s office. Everyone else, provided you’re on your best behaviour for the rest of the evening, can go.”

A chorus of, “Thanks Professor!” went up, while the other three trailed resentfully after her, staring down at their feet and not saying a word as they walked.

“Well, that’s one way to celebrate a win,” Murphy said, looking way too cheery for someone with a split lip. Monty rolled his eyes, but Jasper held up his hand for a high-five and Murphy grinned at him as he smacked it.

“I think it’s time we had a drink.” Raven said, sliding her arm around Shaw’s waist and kissing his cheek.

“Oh definitely!” Jasper beamed. “Last one to the Gryffindor common room is on the food run!”

“Except you, Bellamy,” Octavia wagged a finger at him. “You’re exempt, because you’re going to the Hospital Wing. Right the fuck now.”

And with that, half of them were sprinting towards the castle. For some reason, not a lot of people wanted to have to trudge all the way down to the kitchen to collect snacks when they wanted to be drinking instead. Go figure.

Murphy and Miller helped Wells and Roan to their feet, and then the four of them turned towards Bellamy, but he was already backing away with his hands raised. “Don’t worry, I’m going, I’m going.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Clarke tossed the cloth to the side, looking more annoyed that he’d seen in a while. “Goddammit, Bellamy, you’ve gotta stop messing up your face!”

He was sitting on a chair beside her desk and she was standing between the v of his legs, cleaning off the blood from the cut she’d just sealed shut. She’d fixed his broken nose as well, _again,_ but she had to clean the rest of the blood off before she fixed the bruises, because in her words, “I actually need to _see_ the bruises if I want to heal them, Bellamy, for fuck’s sake.”

They’d been sitting there in silence for a few minutes, and he knew she was angry because her face was like stone, but he had been hoping she would calm down once his nose was healed. As it turned out, she only got more and more furious the longer she stood there. So when she finally threw the cloth to the desk and yelled at him, he was expecting it, but it still felt a little like a gut-punch.

He immediately went on the defensive, trying to play it off, “I didn’t do this, some jackass from Slytherin did.”

Clarke scoffed. “Yeah, and completely unprompted, I’m sure.”

Bellamy crossed his arms, irritated. “Well we’re not all immune like you, princess – some of us actually have to deal with Slytherin prejudice every now and then.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He observed her, trying to maintain his annoyance, but he knew she was just worried about him, and the crinkle she got between her eyebrows when she was concerned was cute.

Wow, he was in _deep._

Clarke moved to the side to pick up the cloth again, and he was suddenly struck with how grounded she was. Her father had clearly rubbed off on her, because any person raised exclusively by magic would not have thought twice about using their wands for every task. But Clarke’s first reaction was to walk over and do it herself. He knew that because that was _his_ first reaction as well, and he often forgot that he carried a wand at all.

“Bellamy, I’m not saying I think you weren’t in the right. I’m pretty sure that whatever this kid did, he deserved a pummelling from you.” She soaked the cloth in a bowl. “I’m just saying that I wish you’d stop getting in fights. You keep ending up in here, and I keep worrying that…”

She trailed away as she stepped back into his space, hands coming up to cup his face, and he caught his breath at the sudden closeness.

“What?” He managed. And of course it figured that the thing that would snap them back to normal was him getting injured. He should have worked that out sooner, because all the personal space she’d been giving him over the last weeks didn’t exist anymore; it was just the two of them again, like always.

“I’m not a doctor, Bellamy, but even I know that continued injuries to the head can lead to _serious_ damage. Plus,” she started dabbing at his eyebrow with the cloth, “your face is far too nice to keep getting messed up like this.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Are you calling me attractive, Princess?”

Even in the soft light, he could see the pink blush rising in her cheeks. She just kept wiping blood off his cheeks, pretending not to care. “You know you’re attractive, Bellamy.”

“Not to you.”

She rolled her eyes as she discarded the cloth and waved her wand over a few small cuts, healing them. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve always been attractive to me, even when you were a jerk. Everybody knows that.”

“Do they?” He asked, voice low.

“Everybody but you, apparently.” She said, and he saw the way she swallowed when her eyes darted over his face.

Bellamy slid an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, and her hands landed on his shoulders to steady herself. Her eyes flicked up from his cheek to meet his. There was a terrifying vulnerability in them, something which he was only just realising that she saved for him and him alone. He offered a half-smile in return. “Is that right?”

She nodded, leaning closer until her forehead rested on his and her eyes fluttered closed. She exhaled slowly, and he felt it against his skin. “You really need to stop getting hit in the face.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” he said, breathless, barely paying attention.

“Yeah, but if your lips weren’t bruised right now, I could kiss you,” she pointed out, and his heart damn near stopped.

He swallowed, thinking it over for a moment. “I think I can deal with a little pain if it means I get to kiss you, Princess.”

Her hands bunched up his shirt over his shoulders, and she made a small noise in her throat. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Bellamy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you, and I know that if I do this it’s going to hurt, and when you say things like that, it makes me want to do it anyway.”

“So do it.”

“Bellamy–” Her light scolding was cut off when he pressed his lips to hers, and she sighed against them, keeping it as soft as she could manage. She was right – it did hurt – but he was right too, because he really didn’t care. All he cared about was the way she moved against him, the way her tongue sought his out, the way her hands came up to tangle in his hair. When she pulled away, she didn’t go far, breath ghosting over his lips.

He stroked his thumb across her hip. “Yep. Totally worth it.”

“You couldn’t have waited five minutes for them to be fully healed?” She scolded, but she didn’t look that upset.

“Nope.” He said, kissing her cheek. “No, I really couldn’t.”

“Smooth talker.” She said accusingly, a smile playing about her lips.

“Clarke, I haven’t been smooth around you since Third Year.” He pointed out.

“Really?” She asked, eyes sparkling. _“That long?”_

He dropped his head to rest against her collarbone. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she laughed.

“You were thinking it,” he grumbled, pressing light kisses up her throat, and she stifled a gasp and clung to him a little tighter. “I know you, Princess. You were definitely thinking it.”

“So what if I was?” She asked, like a challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I was thinking I’d just distract you enough that you stopped thinking entirely,” he murmured into a place under her jaw, sliding his hands down until they were cupping the back of her legs, holding her close.

The hand in his hair tightened and she made a strangled noise, but before he could deliver on his promise, she tugged him back so she could see his face. She sighed happily.

“Sometime very soon, I’m going to take you up on that,” she murmured, “but I want to wait until you’re not injured anymore, and maybe when I’m not supposed to be working.”

She reached for something to speed up the healing of his bruises, and he stroked his thumbs aimlessly across the backs of her thighs. Her concentration face was back as she raked her eyes over his cheek, and he loved her, he loved her _so much_ and he was going to do everything he could to show her that this could be something truly good, that this was perfect.

“Whatever the hell you want, Princess.”

“Good.” Her fingers carded through his hair. “Because I’ve heard all the rumours about you over the years, Bellamy, and I don’t plan for this one kiss to be as far as it goes. You better bring your A Game next time.”

“I plan to,” he said, and he noticed the way she shivered at the words, even as her hand stayed steadfast against his cheek.

“No injuries next time, okay?”

“Deal.” He watched her, eyes half-lidded as she finally finished with his face and just let her fingertips dance across his jaw. Her eyes looked so incredibly blue, even in the dim light. “It’s a date, Princess.”

She quirked her lips up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He whispered.


	8. She's A Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy has his final Hogwarts Quidditch match ever, and he wants to celebrate with the only person not in the stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this cheerful fic finally comes to an end, and I turn back towards the darkness... the melancholy... the overwhelming angst............. 
> 
> BUT NOT BEFORE SOME ABSOLUTELY TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF!!
> 
> I posted this to celebrate a follower milestone on tumblr, and this fic really is a celebration, and a thank you, to everyone who reads and likes and comments on my fics. I appreciate every single one of you, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter of this cheesy hogwarts mess. <3

Dating Clarke Griffin was the easiest thing in the world.

She was his best friend, but now he was allowed to kiss her and hold her and do all the other incredibly sappy things he’d been trying to avoid thinking about for so many months.

In fact, things were so good that – true to form – he started overthinking it. There was just _no way_ he could actually be allowed to feel this happy, right? This should be harder – going from friends to dating should be a difficult, awkward process, not a transition so smooth he couldn’t even track it.

For the first week, he was worried that he was touching her too much; he always had a hand on her thigh or her waist or the small of her back. Sometimes when he did, Clarke would stiffen, but only for a second, just long enough that he might have missed it if he wasn’t paying attention. She never said anything, but he started to wonder if it was too much, so he started schooling himself.

It went on like that for a few days, him being painfully restrained around her, until one morning at breakfast, he pulled his arm from round her waist and pretended he just needed to top up his coffee. When he didn’t wrap his arm back around her, and instead let it drop into his own lap, he felt her stare on his cheek.

He pretended not to notice, too busy teasing Murphy about something, and she waved Wells and Gina over. The five of them started chatting about Transfiguration and Charms, and Bellamy tried really hard not to think about how much he wanted to be touching Clarke.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and finally, when her elbow brushed his as she reached for some eggs, she huffed. He turned to her, concerned, but she just glared down at her fork like it was offending her.

“Jeez, Clarke, what did your cutlery ever do to you?” Wells asked, light.

“Nothing.” She grunted, stabbing at a piece of waffle.

Bellamy frowned over at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. He was about to ask if she was alright but before he had a chance, she reached out under the table, curled her hand over his and tugged it under her skirt, placing it palm-down on her thigh.

_Really high up her thigh._

So apparently the touching wasn’t a problem. Not for _her_ anyway; he was definitely having some problems right now. He was pretty sure his heart stuttered, and his mouth _certainly_ did, freezing mid-insult.

“What’s wrong, Blake? Clarke got your tongue?” Murphy jabbed. It was a shot in the dark, but not entirely inaccurate.

“Fuck off, Murphy.” It wasn’t his best comeback, but he found he really didn’t care. He glanced at Clarke, who was eating her toast like nothing was wrong.

Well, that was just _unfair._

He flexed his hand and she clutched at it a little tighter, eyes crinkling in the corners but her features otherwise completely neutral. She started a conversation with Wells across the table.

He did it again, and he caught the hard swallow she tried to hide, and the way her lashes fluttered when he deliberately stroked his fingers on her inner thigh.

After a moment, Bellamy tried to pull his hand away, which only made her pull it closer to her hips to stop him. His fingers were so, so close to somewhere far too dangerous for the breakfast table, and he could feel her practically vibrating next to him.

He tried to refocus on whatever barb Murphy was throwing at him, and after a while he could almost imagine that it was a normal breakfast.

Except that his palm felt like it was on fire against Clarke’s skin.

She fidgeted slightly and he suddenly couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need to talk to you.” He said, pitching his voice dark and low.

She scowled over at him. “I’m eating.”

“It’s important, Princess.” He growled.

If it weren’t for the slight widening of her eyes, he would have believed her unfazed by his tone, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“More important that breakfast?” Her tone was sharp.

“Are you guys okay?” Gina asked.

“Is this some kind of secret eye language thing again?” Wells added. “Are you having an argument that we’re not supposed to know about?”

“No.” Clarke said sullenly, returning her gaze to the plate. Bellamy might have even believed that she was angry too, if she wasn’t gripping his hand tight enough to cut off the circulation.

He huffed and turned the hand on her thigh over until his fingers were twined with hers, tugging her to her feet and down the corridor despite her grumbling protests.

The second he found an empty classroom, he dragged her into it, closing the door behind them and pushing her up against it so he could kiss her.

She sighed into him, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, keeping him flush against her. His own crawled up her back, making her arch into him – and if the moan of approval was anything to go by, she really liked it.

When they finally broke apart, he didn’t go far, nuzzling at her jaw affectionately until she made a quiet noise in her throat and clutched at him a little. His thumbs were rubbing circles on her skin.

“Why did you stop touching me?” She asked, breathless and trying not to be.

Bellamy lifted his head to see her and her eyes were wide and earnest and there was more than a little fear in them. She blinked up at him, waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t want it to seem like I was coming on too strong, or being clingy, or trying to push you into anything. I’m not… I want to do this right.” He admitted.

Her expression softened. “Well, just so we’re clear, I _really_ like it when you touch me.”

“I’m getting that,” he teased and she kissed the smirk right off his face.

After that morning, he couldn’t keep his hands off her, trailing fingers through her hair or drumming patterns onto her hip whenever they were near each other; in class, at breakfast, while they were studying, he always seemed to be touching her, no matter the teasing looks they got from their friends.

She really didn’t seem to mind.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Unfortunately, hanging out with their friends wasn’t anywhere near as easy. Apparently the novelty of their romance hadn’t worn off yet, because they still received loaded glances and noticed hushed giggles every time Bellamy held Clarke’s hand.

It got so bad that Bellamy had started kicking Jasper under the desk every time he heard him so much as whisper one of their names.

Even now, over a month later, Jasper was muttering something to Roan and Shaw across the breakfast table, and though he couldn’t hear the exact words, he just _knew_ they were talking about him.

“Wanna share with the class, Jas?” He asked casually, leaning back in his chair and draping an arm over Clarke’s shoulder. They were all sitting together for lunch, but half of them had their noses buried in essays and exam revision, barely remembering to sip at their coffees and eat something every now and then. Clarke was taking a break from Arithmancy, having claimed it was giving her a headache, and was now relaxing against him, cupping a huge mug of tea in her hands.

Jasper leaned forward. “Yeah, actually. I was just wondering – because I know you two can’t keep your hands off each other – where your hiding place is.”

“Our what?” Clarke asked, bemused.

“Y’know, your _spot_.” He emphasised. At Clarke’s continued blank stared, he sighed dramatically. “You know, to _hook up! Make sex! Do the do! Get funky! Make the magic happen!”_

Bellamy threw his gaze up and glared at the ceiling like was offending him. “Why am I friends with you?”

“Because I’m awesome.”

“No, that’s not it,” he pondered, making Jasper pout.

Clarke squeezed his hand. The problem was, they didn’t have a _spot_ because they hadn’t gotten that far yet. They were both _so busy,_ they honestly just hadn’t had time; what with N.E.W.T.s coming up, the House Cup, Clarke basically living in the Hospital Wing and his weekend shifts at The Three Broomsticks, they just couldn’t seem to find a free hour or two to relax. Sure, their study sessions sometimes got pretty heated, but one of them would always pull back first, to remind the other that they were supposed to be reading.

But there was no way he was admitting that to their friends; they’d never hear the end of it. So he shared a look with Clarke and shrugged. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Bullshit.” Shaw said. “I hear tales of your exploits all over the castle.”

“Not from me you don’t.”

Raven tilted her head, making her ponytail swish. “Actually, he’s telling the truth. When we slept together he never said a word.”

Bellamy shrugged again. “If the people I sleep with want to tell people, I’m not going to stop them. It’s just not really in my nature to brag about it. Maybe a few years ago, but not now.”

The conversation lulled for a minute, and Clarke smiled up at him gratefully, kissing under his jaw where she could reach. It was really a nice stretch of silence for a while, and for the briefest of moments, Bellamy thought his friends might finally be done asking them about their relationship. Until–

“What about you, Clarke? You letting him _Slytherin?”_   Roan asked cheekily, and received more than one smack to the arm for his trouble, one from Clarke and two from Bellamy’s very disgusted sister, who had only just sat down.

“That’s disgusting.” Octavia groaned into her scrambled eggs. “Why do I hang out with you guys?”

“Because we’re awesome.” Raven stated.

Monty didn’t even look up from his essay. “Quoth the Ravenclaw.”

“Boo,” she complained back.

“To get back on topic,” Miller said forcefully, “we’re all very happy for you guys.”

Jasper nodded sagely. “It has been Gryffindorsed.”

“It’s Ravenclawesome,” Monty added.

“Please stop this,” Octavia begged.

“Well, I think they’re a great couple. They’re Hufflepuffection.” Jasper grinned cheesily and every started rolling up paper and tossing it at him, jeering and complaining. “Alright, alright! I surrender; no more puns!”

“Thank you.”

“Although, if I may be allowed to make a last Quid-ditch effort,” he started, but they all pelted him with waffles until he finally conceded defeat.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
A month after their first kiss in the Hospital Wing, Bellamy was pretty confident that kissing Clarke Griffin was his favourite thing in the world. He greeted her with kisses to the forehead, and she said goodbye with kisses to his cheek, and he kept finding excuses to drag her into dark corners and kiss her senseless.

Their time studying was frequently interrupted by his constant desire to have his lips pressed somewhere on her person, and her inability to resist him when he did, even if he was just resting them on her shoulder.

“We really should have waited,” Clarke managed between kisses, “until after the N.E.W.T.s to get together.”

He hummed his assent, trailing his lips down her neck until she gasped.

They were in the library, tucked into Clarke’s usual study corner, the one he’d frequently seen her disappearing to on her own. As it turned out, it was just about spacious enough for two people to sit there together, provided they sat close together, which, well…

“We’re so gonna fail,” she panted, letting her head drop back against the shelf behind her. “My mom’s gonna kill me.”

“You’ll be fine.” He scraped his teeth gently along her collarbone.

“Aren’t you worried about it?” She teased.

“I’ve got no-one to impress but you, Princess,” he admitted, and she stilled. He internally cursed himself for saying it aloud, no matter how true it was. Her hands, already tangled in his hair, tugged until his face was back level with hers, and her eyes darted over it, searching. He opened his mouth to say something stupid, or maybe take it back, and she kissed him softly.

“Bellamy…” The way she said his name had a habit of making him weak at the knees; if he wasn’t already sitting down, he was pretty sure he would have fallen over.

“I mean it,” he said. “I’ve got no parents, no guardians, no-one to look up to except maybe Kane. You’re the only person that makes me feel like I could do something with my life.”

“Are you kidding?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re amazing, Bellamy. If you don’t see that by now… Do you have any idea how many times I studied for an extra hour just so I could go toe to toe with you in class? Or how often I’d see you doing something wonderful and get annoyed at you because you made it so hard to hate you? Or how much I love arguing with you when you get passionate about something and can’t seem to stop? You’re _brilliant.”_

Embarrassed, he ducked his head. Rather than trying to stop him, she just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer until his head was resting against her chest.

“Hey, Clarke?” He mumbled, arms sliding around her waist to hold her better.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Is it because I told you how great you are?” She quipped. Of course. It figured that she would be completely unfazed by him finally saying the words. She was Clarke Motherfucking Griffin.

“Honestly, it just seemed like the right time to say it. I’ve been in love with you for a while, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” she breathed, kissing the crown of his head.

“You don’t have to say it bac–”

“I love you.” She said firmly, with a hint of fond exasperation. “Obviously.”

“Yeah,” he pulled back just enough to plant another chaste kiss to her lips. “I’m getting that.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
This was it.

The final Hogwarts Quidditch Match that he would ever play.

For the House Cup.

It was only fitting that it would be against Slytherin.

The night before, he’d tried to convince Clarke to come along, just to this one game, and she finally broke down and confessed that she just didn’t like the sport.

“Listen, Bellamy, I’m sure the fact that you’re an athlete is the main reason a lot of people find you attractive, and I have to admit that it comes with a certain level of sex appeal, but I don’t like Quidditch. Every time I try, all I can see is the potential injuries. Every Bludger, every broom, all flying through the air – it’s all just too much for me. I wouldn’t enjoy it. Before it would have been hard enough, but _now?_   I would just spend the entire match panicking about you.”

He paused, nodding slowly. He understood where she was coming from, especially considering she knew exactly how accident prone he was. She would inevitably be the person stitching him up afterwards; she probably didn’t want to see it happen first-hand.

Instead of saying any of that, he simply quipped, “You think I have sex-appeal?” and she shoved him away in mock disgust.

So there he was, standing in the locker-room, ten minutes until they needed to be on the pitch, knowing that his girlfriend wasn’t in the stands and being just a tiny bit relieved. He’d never played with her watching before, and knowing that she was there would almost definitely have thrown him off. Besides, he was definitely going to celebrate with her later.

Miller came up and clapped him on the back.

“Come on Captain – where’s the speech?”

He snorted. “I thought you guys hated my speeches.”

“Yeah, well, we’re used to them by now.”

Octavia sidled up, “C’mon Bell, give us a rousing speech. It’s tradition.”

“Besides, it’s your last chance,” Miller pointed out.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think he’ll find plenty of other opportunities to be a complete–”

“–Listen up!” Bellamy cut his sister off with shout and a good-humoured glare and she stuck her tongue out at him, but fell silent all the same. So did everyone else. It was like the entire locker room was holding its breath and he realised she wasn’t lying – they really were waiting for him to give a dramatic speech – and who was he to deny them.

“For some of us, this is our final match at Hogwarts.” His eyes trailed over Miller, Shaw, Monty, Jasper and Harper before flitting to the rest of the team, reserve team members and all. He winked at Madi. “For others, it’s just the beginning. But no matter what, whether we win or lose, I’m proud of all of you for coming so far – every one of you is an integral member of this team and we wouldn’t be here without each of you. So, win or lose, let’s go out there and play the best game of our lives, okay? Who’s with me?!”

A cheer went up and then they were marching out onto the pitch, all of them still whooping and hollering.

Miller leaned in. “I was expecting something longer.”

Bellamy snorted, elbowing him.

“No I’m serious, you really could have milked that moment and instead you went for something brief. I think you might be growing, Blake.”

“Nah, I’m just saving up all my energy for the match.” That was a lie and Miller clearly knew it.

His eyes narrowed for a moment before his expression cleared and he started laughing. “Oh my god. You’re going to make some kind of dramatic speech to Clarke tonight, aren’t you?”

Bellamy grimaced, but he didn’t deny it.

Miller cackled. “The girl already loves you, Blake – what can you possibly be planning to say?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a proposal, is it?” He teased. Bellamy didn’t say anything, he just turned towards Diyoza, who was signalling the beginning of the match. The smile fell off Miller’s face. “Is it?! Bellamy? _Bellamy?!_   Tell me you’re not! It’s _not,_ right? Don’t fly away from me!”

And then the whistle blew and they were off, Bellamy quietly smirking to himself even as he dodged a Bludger. Messing with Miller was fun.

The Quaffle was in Slytherin’s possession, and despite their best efforts, it made it all the way down the pitch, sailing towards the goalposts… Only to be whacked away deftly by Shaw. Even through the wind, they could hear Murphy’s loud swearing.

So far so good.

_"Good block, maybe if Mr Shaw put half as much effort into his protection charms as he does as keeper, he'd be doing better in my class."_

Laughter went up in the stalls and Bellamy glanced around for the source, only to see that Shaw was undeniably flipping the bird to their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

She just grinned in return.

_“After Shaw’s valiant efforts – seriously kid, just put that energy into your essays, I’m begging you – Gryffindor now have the Quaffle, and McIntyre is streaking down the pitch! She passes to Miller, who feints a throw to Blake before tossing it back to Harper, and she shoots–”_

Her announcement was drowned out when Harper scored and cheers roared through the stadium.

They were up by ten points in the first five minutes of the game.

This was going to be good.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Miller scored, then Harper again, which was unfortunately followed by Roan managing to score twice in a row. Bellamy aimed for the goalposts twice and was blocked – Luna was a brilliant Keeper – before his third try finally nabbed them another ten points.

Anya tried and failed to get past Shaw, and then Harper did some kind of tricky manoeuvre that ended up with Luna flying towards the wrong goalpost and Harper scoring.

_“It’s truly impressive the level of core strength that girl has; to hang upside-down like that and still score – fucking brilliant.”_

_“Diyoza, there are children present.”_

_“So?”_

_“So don’t swear.”_

The shrug was apparent in her voice. _“They’re mostly teenagers.”_

_“And you’re their **teacher,** are you kidding me right now?”_

_“Every day I teach these kids how to defend themselves against dark wizards and how to avoid being killed or eaten by vicious creatures – shoutout to Bellamy Blake for nearly fucking that up last time, despite being one of my best students – and you think they’ll be upset at the word ‘fuck’?”_

_“DIYOZA!”_   And then, less distinctly but still audible; _“Fuck’s sake. I give up.”_

Bellamy and Murphy both started laughing so hard they almost crashed into each other, and then wiped the tears of mirth from their eyes as Anya scored.

They shared a glance and for a moment, it was like the game paused and it was just the two of them: team captains and best friends, sharing one last moment together before this ended forever.

“No matter what happens, this is a great fucking game.” Bellamy said.

Murphy grinned wolfishly, as always. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be a loser.”

“Your trash talk is better when you have two feet on the ground.”

“Your girlfriend is here.”

Bellamy’s head whipped round to the stands, only to hear Murphy’s laughter flying away from him.

Bastard.

He turned to see Murphy whacking a Bludger towards Miller, ducking the one Monroe sent his way. That manic grin was still on Murphy’s face as he started tailing Harper, trying to throw her off her game before she could aim for the goalposts.

She scored anyway, to a chorus of praises and red fireworks that spelled out her name – definitely Monty’s doing.

Bellamy kept his eye out for Madi and found her circling something by the stands. Adria was still hovering up in the clouds, but she seemed to spot something at the same time as Madi did, because both of them suddenly shot upwards into the sky. A Bludger came dangerously close to him and Octavia had to speed forward and hit it out of the way and towards Roan.

“Head in the game, Big Brother!” She yelled, and he rolled his eyes. He still heeded the advice, however, and sped to intercept Anya on her way towards the goalposts.

He and Miller cornered her, and when she tried to dive to avoid them, Harper twirled up faster than lightning and snatched the Quaffle from the air when Anya tried to pass it.

They were halfway down the pitch when they heard.

_“The Gryffindor Seeker has the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE HOUSE CUP!”_

And then none of them could hear much of anything except the screams of the crowd and their own hearts pounding as they launched themselves forward; the entire team gripping each other in a mid-air hug.

Eventually, they all had to return to the ground to celebrate their win (but mainly so they could all steal away to the Gryffindor Common Room to celebrate).

It wasn’t until Diyoza was handing them the giant trophy, however, that it really sank in.

“Holy shit.” Shaw breathed, like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Hell of a match to go out on.” Miller agreed.

“But was it the best game of our lives?” Octavia asked, in a mock-impression of Bellamy.

Bellamy couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended. He simply shrugged a shoulder. “Top five, at least.”

“Hey!” Murphy called as he landed, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re still a loser to me, Blake!”

He just shook his head in amusement and started walking with the crowd. They were ecstatic, buzzing with energy, and it wasn’t until they walked back through the castle gates and he gazed up at it that he really felt it.

He realised that he was happy – happier than he’d been in a long time.

“I’ll catch up,” he said to his friends as he peeled away from the crowd, aiming towards a familiar corridor. “I’ve just… I’ve got a date.”

They wolf-whistled after him, and Raven yelled, “Have fun getting laid, Captain!”

“Likewise, Reyes,” he called back, and he didn’t look behind him, but he knew she was flipping him off. She and Shaw were made for each other.

It wasn’t until he reached the large doors he knew so well that he finally slowed his speed, and he closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath.

“You love her.”

He opened his eyes.

Madam Cartwig was standing in front of him, clad in plaid pyjamas and a nightgown, a tired smile on her face.

“Yes ma’am.” He said. Why deny it? At this point, he felt like shouting it from every turret.

She just shook her head, clearly amused. “Congratulations on the House Cup. Perhaps you’ll finally stop turning up here with injuries for your poor girlfriend to treat, although I don’t hold out hope.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“And Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope she knows.”

“She does.”

“Good.” She tilted her head at him with something like approval. “Now go and whisk her away somewhere romantic. She deserves a night off.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
He hovered in the doorway for a little while before Clarke noticed him, not wanting to distract her from the patient she was helping. When she glanced in his direction, her eyebrows drew together in confusion.

“Aren’t you going to the party?” She asked. “It’s for you, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that.” He smiled at her, and his heart sang when she returned it. “Maybe later. I heard a rumour that you get off your shift in five minutes.”

“Yeah? And I’m sure you have nothing to do with that.” She shook her head good-humouredly. “I was going to swing by sometime later, y’know.”

“I know, but I couldn’t wait. Besides, I believe you promised me that the next time I went to a party, you’d come with me and shield me from all the fun.”

“You remember that, huh?” She made a face.

He just grinned back at her until she blushed and made a point of folding down the bedsheets on the nearest cot just for something to do.

“Go to your party, Bellamy; celebrate with your teammates. You deserve a drink.”

“I think,” he pulled a flask from the pocket of his robes, “that we deserve more than one.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, amused.

He shook it at her enticingly before he returned it to its rightful place. “Starshine. It’s what Monty and Jasper finally settled on.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah, it’s certainly something.” He took a tentative step forward. “Want to know what I taste when I drink it?”

“I have a few guesses.” She said teasingly, turning around so she could fill out people’s charts for the night before she left.

“Oh yeah?” Amused, he tilted his head, catching her eye when she glanced over her shoulder. She flushed and quickly looked back to the desk. “Like what?”

“Um… Firewhisky, the taste of the air during a Quidditch match, the hash browns you always devour at breakfast,” she ticked them off on her fingers. “Am I close?”

“Not even a little.” He moved closer still, until he was right behind her, placing his hands on the table either side of hers. “It’s iced coffee and caramel–”

“–those were next on my list–”

He poked her in the ribs. “Let me finish.”

“Sorry, you were trying to be sappy, I’ll keep my teasing to myself.”

He snorted. “Whatever, like you could ever stop yourself from teasing me. Anyway, there’s always been something I haven’t been able to place, until a couple of weeks ago, in this room, when you kissed me.”

She stilled, and her voice took on an air of forced casualness. “Is that so?”

He nosed at her neck and she slid her hands over his, sliding her fingers around them. “Yeah, Princess, it is.”

“What is it then?” She asked, letting her head drop back against his shoulder. “Essence of Dittany? Antiseptic?”

He bit her shoulder gently at her teasing and she smirked when she looked across at him. She knew exactly what he was going to say.

“You, Clarke.” He huffed, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “It’s always been you.”

“You’re such a sap.” She teased, but there was something cracked behind it, and she leaned back into him more heavily, bringing their twined hands up and crossing them over her waist until he was holding her to him. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” He squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Wanna get outta here?”

“Wow, I thought you’d never ask,” she moved to step away, but he held her close a moment longer, dropping kisses down her neck. She hummed, completely content. “You keep kissing me in here and it’s going to be all I think about whenever I’m on shift. I’ll never get anything done.”

“That’s the goal.” He joked, and she finally managed to extricate herself from his arms. He kept his hand firmly around hers, however, and led her from the room, waving at Madam Cartwig as they left. She only nodded curtly, but he saw her small smile as she turned away.

“Where are we going?” She stage-whispered.

“Somewhere quiet.”

“Library?” She guessed.

“Quieter.”

They wandered in silence after that, but the second they turned into the seventh floor corridor, she knew where he was taking her. He noticed the moment she realised, catching her questioning eyes turn soft at the sight of the unassumingly blank wall. He let go of her hand and gestured for her to stay still while he turned to start pacing.

“What are you trying to conjure?”

“Patience, Princess, I’m trying to think here.”

She huffed and fell silent again. He paced thrice and then a small door appeared, the wood beautifully carved with snakes and lions curled around each other. She probably should have laughed at how on the nose it was, but at this point, she was far too interested in what was on the other side of the door to do anything but stare.

He twined their fingers together again.

“Looking to you, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, this fic is G-rated, so if you wanna see what happens on the other side of the door, you can find it [HERE!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218027)
> 
> Otherwise, thank you so much for reading this story!!! I adore you all and I'm so chuffed that you've all stuck around this long and have been enjoying it as much as I have. It's been an absolute blast to write, and I'm sorry to see the end of it. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Reading your comments makes me happier than a Bellamy with a Clarke in his arms in the Room of Requirement!!
> 
> And in case I wasn't clear enough, [SOFT BLARKE SMUT IS RIGHT HERE!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218027) <3


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